Frontline
by St. Harridan
Summary: Widowed and vengeful, one woman struggles to cope in male-dominated 11th Division. Ukitake is forced into conspiracy, Kenpachi's true worth as captain reveals itself. Meanwhile, an unknown enemy plots revenge on him, and the war with Aizen looms nearer.
1. A Toast to Death

Hi there, this is my first multichaptered fanfic - wanted to try my hand at something different other than the usual one-shots and drabbles. This is rather AU, slipping away from canon after the Bount Arc. Also, there seems to be a heap of fanfics featuring romances between canon characters and OCs. I've decided NOT to include romance and focus more on an aspect which is equally important but usually gets less attention: friendship, as well as the lives of the shinigami in days wherein war threatens every corner of Soul Society.

Anyway, I'm an aspiring writer willing to improve my prose, so I'd like to know what you readers think! :) And I hope you enjoy!

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Chapter 1: A Toast to Death

In the early hours of dawn, Captain Ukitake Jushiro sat in the office of the Thirteenth Division barracks, nursing a steaming cup of tea and watching as the sun rose from behind the obscuring walls of the Seireitei. Jushiro loved watching the sunrise which was, in his eyes, a fair sight to behold. But given the state his health was in, it was strongly recommended for him to skip his morning pleasure in exchange for extra hours of sleep. But really, was there any point in losing the chance to witness such a breathtaking reality just so he could carry on with an empty dream? -

Jushiro smiled to himself, taking a light sip of warm tea. Even in a small amount of intake, he found himself sighing at the rich complexity of its taste. There was no surprise in that, however. He should have known that the quality of the Kuchiki family's tea leaves was not one to be disputed.

As the sun rose in the sky, overflowing the dark halls of the Seireitei with its generous light and ushering in a new day for humans and shinigami alike, Jushiro set down the empty cup and started shifting through the heaps of documents piled high in front of him. He was sure that his two acting lieutenants were going to arrive soon with more paperwork. Shortly after the thought ran through his mind, they came racing into his office, tripping over one another while uttering awkward formalities which Jushiro dismissed with a wave of his hand. After handing him two more piles of paperwork and a long blur of compliments, they disappeared.

Eying the greatly despised work now piled much higher than before, Jushiro sighed and reached for a pen. As he did so, his eyes darted involuntarily to the door, shut and not promising any visitors other than his two officers.

It was during days like these that Jushiro wished he had the sense to take breakfast beforehand.

xxx

It was not until much later, nearing noon, that Jushiro received a knock on his door. Before the knock even came, he already recognized the familiar pattern of weak spiritual pressure, and it was unsurprising when a young brunette came stumbling into the office with a wide grin of apology.

"Mornin', captain," she mock saluted, nudging the door shut with her foot.

"Let me guess," Jushiro said as he settled his pen down, intertwining his fingers. "You found out at the very last minute that you hadn't enough ingredients, and so you had to wait for the grocer to open shop before you could start. Is that correct?" He smiled as she began to fumble with words, trying to lie her way around it.

"Don't be so demanding," she replied. "At least I brought your meds. You were running low, after all," she added, nodding at the rapidly decreasing pills in the small container on the desk.

"Thank you." Jushiro took the packet that contained capsules of medicine that had been specially formulated for his illness by Unohana Retsu, a former classmate of his in the academy, as well as the current captain of the Fourth Division. Given the number of pills in the packet, and the size of the container, he would last for about three days at the most before having to re-supply.

As he watched her unpack a round container from the basket she was carrying, only to set it in front of him with an authoritative "drink it," he couldn't find the might to inform her that he had already eaten, and that he was more than contentedly full. One of his acting lieutenants, Kiyone Kotetsu, had taken the liberty of ordering a meal larger than was possible to fit in him, saying that he needed the nutrients. But honestly, he didn't find much protein in a mass of greens. Nonetheless, he put the rim of the container to his lips and drank. Once the bitter tang of herbs melted away, the sweetness of red beans danced on his tongue, leaving a wonderful aftertaste.

"How was it?" she asked, a question uttered at least once every day, and Jushiro gave the reply he normally offered.

"Good as always."

A proud beam lit up her face, though she tried to control it with a satisfied nod, as she packed the empty container away.

"I noticed something different," he said, observantly.

"Yeah, I replaced lemon with red beans. Thought you might want something new instead of all those boring – not to mention _sour _– lemons."

"So, you're experimenting?"

"Well, sort of. It's not fatal, really. What, do you want those lemons back?"

"I don't mind how it tastes so long as it does its job." Jushiro wasn't one for superfluous additions.

"So you won't mind even if it tastes like shit?" She laughed when he made quite a sound clearing his throat, and gestured to the chair opposite from him. "May I sit?"

Jushiro picked up the discarded pen and resumed his work, pretending to not notice her finger-snaps in his face.

"Fine. Ignore me," she grumbled.

"You don't need an invitation to sit in my office, Izumi. Haven't I told you that before, or have you just simply forgotten?"

"I'd say that I ignored it." Izumi plopped down in the chair and leaned over the desk to see what he was doing. "Looks tough."

"Would you mind helping me with them, then?" He didn't even know why he even bothered to ask since he already knew the answer. Maybe it was just for the fun of it.

"I love reading, but only if it's got something to do with someone climbing on top of the other." She blinked innocently when his pen stopped moving. "Has it got a detailed text of women stripping? That why you love your work so much?"

Jushiro signed his name, a confirmation seal, without a word and placed the paper in the outbox rack.

"I'm just kiddin', Ukitake. C'mon!"

"Yes, I know," he replied calmly, reaching for another paper and holding it in front of his face to read. If only there were texts of stripping women, poor Lieutenant Nanao wouldn't have to dig up the whole place looking for her procrastinating captain. And Kyoraku himself would be stuck in his office all day, drinking sake and imagining indecencies as his eyes fed on the words. "How's Saito doing?"

Izumi blew a raspberry, supporting her chin in a hand. "That guy can never keep his mouth shut. Once he walks through the door, he's all 'bastard said this, bastard did that.'"

"He's still upset, I see. Still misses his old captain?"

"Yeah. I try to get him to shut up but he just won't listen. If he keeps going on like this, I won't be surprised if he ends up like that dumbass Ichinose."

"I personally think that Captain Zaraki does not find joy in murdering his own subjects." Jushiro let the paper flutter into the out rack and reached for another one. "He may be the one most aroused by the sight of blood, but he has his own code of honour as well. No captain would think of killing his own squad member."

"Yeah?" She sounded skeptical.

"I'm positive." He flashed a reassuring smile. "Does Saito still complain about your bringing soup over here? He seems quiet about it these past weeks."

"Sometimes." She nodded, and Jushiro could see the relief in her eyes following the change of subject. "But he's fairly used to it now. He should be. I mean, I have to put up with his late nights out and all the alcohol. After all that, I'd be damned if he doesn't cut me any slack." She shifted in the chair, grinning as Jushiro plucked out yet another piece to read through and sign. "Tough work. Don't your lieutenants help you with that?"

"_Acting_ lieutenants," he said with a tone that was a little too sharp. Looking up, his apology was lodged in his throat when she waved a hand dismissively with a muttered "sorry" of her own. "Acting lieutenants," he said, softening his voice but still retaining a hint of finality. "Yes, they do help me with paperwork sometimes, when they aren't busy training the new recruits, but their squabbling…doesn't really make for a peaceful environment, don't you think?"

A chuckle left her. "But it's fun to watch 'em getting all nervous around their beloved Captain Ukitake."

Jushiro sighed in slight exasperation at the patronizing tone in her voice. He knew that it was just a joke, but he couldn't help but feel more than a little fed up with it.

"It's hard to manage them at times-"

She coughed behind her hand to mask what Jushiro caught was "most of the time."

"Well…yes, but they are very reliable. They get things done, fast and efficient."

"Though not all that professionally."

"But they get things done nonetheless," said Jushiro with a tone that denied any form of objection. Izumi held up both hands, palms towards him, in mock defeat before pointing an accusing finger at him.

"See, Jushiro?"

"Oh, don't start please."

She ignored him. "_That's _the reason why you receive tons of new recruits each year. You're what every squad member would want in a captain."

He held his forehead in his hand with a frown that seemed strange, contorting his near-feminine features whose sharp face contours the only form of masculinity present. "Don't start."

Grinning, Izumi got up from her seat and, leaning over, gave Jushiro's shoulder a good-natured slap. "All right, I'm gonna leave you in peace. Take it easy, okay, Captain?" Pinching his cheeks, she stretched the sides of his face till a rather reluctant smile formed. His eyebrows were still knitted together though, which made her huff in frustration. "C'mon, smile!"

Gently, Jushiro removed her hands and stared up at her, studying her.

"What?"

"You're the one who needs to smile."

"I'm smiling right now."

"Many say that what shows on the outside rarely reflects what is really on the inside." Reclining in his chair, Jushiro put the pen down, letting it roll over the paper, his eyes never leaving hers. "I find that to be true. With you, at least." When the pen came to a stop, he said, "You're worried about Saito, aren't you?"

Giving up, Izumi stood behind the chair with her hands braced on top of its backrest, as if it was a shield meant to protect her from the white-haired man. "I hate you and your mind-reading games."

Jushiro let a small smile tug at the edges of his mouth. "It's called observation. And you're a bad liar which makes it significantly easier. Now, talk to me."

Izumi stared out the window for a moment, not really looking at the greenery surrounding the barracks, before giving a nonchalant shrug which Jushiro knew to be a façade. A very lousy one. "He's gone on a mission. Apparently, there's a horde of Hollows ravaging the outer districts of the Rukon. He was already gone when I woke. Left me a note. Told me not to worry."

"And you shouldn't."

At the stern look in his eyes, Izumi sighed and held up a hand. "All right, fine. I shouldn't. But I can't help it. If Saito was your husband…wife, I'm guessing you'd feel the same."

Jushiro couldn't deny the fact, but yes he would feel the exact same way. But that was what they did. Their job was to risk their lives to protect Soul Society and to do that, they underwent training to minimize any unwanted casualties.

"You're being paranoid," he concluded, rising from his seat with a gesture towards the tea pot. The leftover tea should be cold by now, but there was no trouble in brewing another round. Izumi shook her head, backing towards the door. "The Eleventh Division is specially trained to fight on the front lines. Dispatching a few Hollows is mere child's play to them."

Izumi forced a laugh that came out as a miserable wheeze, the sound reminiscent of what one hears when stepping on a toad and squeezing the life out of it. "Saito says that all the time. Guess you're both right. Why do I even bother anyway?"

"You worry too much." Jushiro opened the door for her and she stepped out into the corridor. Loud sounds of clashing zanpakuto could be heard from the dojo downstairs. "Are you sure you wouldn't want to have some tea? I had Captain Kuchiki's latest sent over just recently. It does quite a job of calming the nerves."

"Maybe in the evening, after you're done with work, when I send over more soup?" she suggested, looking down the corridor both ways with a grin that showed no less mischief than a child's. "Where's Kiyone?"

"Most likely in the dojo." Chuckling, Jushiro nodded. "Well enough." And as the white-haired captain watched her back as she faded down the stairs, he felt a slight change in the wind rustling through the trees outside the window. He didn't know whether it was for better or worse, but he couldn't wait for the day to end. Turning back to his desk where work was waiting for him, daunting, he wished he had told her he preferred lemons to red beans.

xxx

That evening, as Izumi prepared the captain's herbal soup, a hard rap on the door of the little house startled her out of her concentration. Hot liquid splashed onto her hands but she managed to jump back before staining her clothes. Grumbling a curse, she raced to the sink and ran her hands under the faucet, sighing in relief as cold water eased the burning pains.

Another rap sounded, this time much louder and angrier, threatening to burst a hole in the door.

"I hear you, damn it," she growled. What idiot could possibly be trying to grate on her nerves at this time of night? If Saito were home, he'd already have the person smashed through a wall.

Wiping her hands on her shirt, she grabbed the knob and flung the door open. Black dots clouded her vision as the light of a lantern blinded her momentarily. Blinking them away, she found herself staring at a young man who seemed to be slightly older than she was, with tousled jet black hair and grey eyes.

Izumi couldn't understand the desolate look in those grey orbs nor the crease in his brows. Not until he opened his tight-lipped mouth and she heard the words that stabbed a thousand zanpakuto into her heart.

"Murakami Saito is dead."

xxx

That evening, Jushiro waited and waited until well into the night for the herbal soup that would ease the increasing irritation in his throat. Finally deciding that the woman had probably forgotten, Jushiro went to bed and braved through a series of dry hacking coughs with only the cold leftover tea for comfort.

It wasn't until late the next morning that he heard the news from a blabbering Kiyone, who in turn overheard a few unseated shinigami of the Eleventh Division talking.

Both husband and wife were dead. He was struck down by a multitude of Hollows, a most heroic way to die. She, on the other hand, had too much to drink.

Death by one's own hand was frowned upon by the shinigami and, as stated in the ancient laws, the perpetrator's soul was to be banished to the fiery depths of Hell where it would suffer severe punishment. Those who were strong enough made it through and were reincarnated as human beings to start a new life on Earth, much like any other soul.

Those who hadn't the strength or will to survive the Fire, well, they simply perished.

Most of them did.

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**Beta-read by: **Laerkstrein


	2. Sorrow

_Izumi couldn't understand the desolate look in those grey orbs or the crease in his brows. Not until he opened his tight-lipped mouth and she heard the words that stabbed a thousand zanpakuto into her heart._

"_Murakami Saito is dead."_

Chapter 2: Sorrow

Shadows of an illuminated chair blinked in and out of her hazy vision as Izumi stumbled over her own feet and collapsed to her knees. She grasped onto the wooden chair for support, hauling herself up so that her chin rested on its seat. This was Saito's favourite chair. The place where he used to sit while reading the Seireitei's monthly magazine. She could almost smell the scent of his skin once he came out of the bath, clothed in nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist, with water still dripping from his hair. She'd nag at him, just like how her mother used to nag at her, for making a puddle on the floor.

All that son of a bitch would do was laugh at her and call her an old hag before pulling her into his arms, ignoring her snappy comebacks.

Izumi dropped her head back, raised the rim of the bottle to her lips and waited for the soothing drops of sake to burn her insides. She waited and waited for what felt like a fucking day but nothing came. There was no warmth pooling in the pit of her cold, empty stomach. No satisfaction, however small, filling the dark voids of her heart. Nothing at all.

Hands weakening, Izumi let the bottle slip from her fingers. A moment later, she heard the piercing sounds of glass shattering. Echoes resonated throughout the living room, disappearing into the darkness before bouncing back to her in a sneak attack that made her clasp her hands over her ears.

When they died down, faded back into the jaws of midnight, Izumi let her hands return to her sides. As if seizing the golden opportunity, voices of demons began pouring into her ears, her mind, breaking the cursed silence with tones as sharp as Saito's blade.

_Murakami Saito is dead._

How can he be? Nobody could take him out. Right? With his zanpakuto, he could take down any being, be it human, Hollow or shinigami, with a single blow. No one could get past him.

_Saito's dead._

Izumi slid down, her body devoid of life, and fell on the hard wood. Splinters of glass rattled against the floor following her body's heavy landing. Her hands, lying on either side of her head, trembled as shock waves rippled through them.

_No, he's not._

The shock waves continued searing through her body, tearing veins apart and stunning nerves; she was paralyzed. But her hands still shook with no hope of stopping.

Glass shards scattered beneath her pressed into her skin, embedding themselves into her flesh.

Thousands of shards, once a sake bottle.

Her heart, once whole and beating incessantly.

Both shattered upon impact, mutilated into countless pieces, leaving Izumi a rag doll drifting off to settle in the pit of despair.

_He can't be..._

xxx

Fire blazed before her; fire on all sides, burning her eyes, skin, face. She wished that she couldn't feel anything. Where did the numbness go? Where was the sake? She needed it to put out the fire.

_But alcohol would only make it worse, dumbass._

That demonic voice returned to her, biting and gnawing at the back of her mind; a trickster determined to seize its victim and drown her in a chasm of endless deceit.

She heard ragged breathing. Was that her own? But she was dead. Someone was squeezing her head, monstrous hands clasping her skull, so hard that she felt her whole body was going to implode. Blood rushed like a flowing river down the mountain through her body, circumventing the soles of her feet and climbing back up once more. Up, up, still continuing through her throat, and finally bursting through her mouth with a sickening moan.

Izumi threw herself over the side of what seemed to be a rather high bed, bile and blood exploding out of her throat. There was a gasp nearby, some footsteps and someone calling her name. She heard them only faintly as the sounds of her own retching drowned them out. She was suffocating, and she struggled to breathe through her nose. Breathing became more laborious. It would be so much better to just stop breathing for a while...

An unseen hand ripped off the oxygen mask and at that moment she felt a palm rubbing her back in soothing, circular motions. Her heart leaped to her throat, causing her to choke. She flailed her arms around wildly for support. One managed to grasp onto the edge of the bedside table while another clung to a piece of clothing.

_Sai…to?_

She tried to speak around her agony, but was cut off by more choking. The hand on her back quickened its pace, forcing out whatever it was that threatened to obstruct the narrow tube of her throat.

It worked.

The rubs brought forth a bitter mass of bile, blood and yesterday afternoon's udon noodles, spilling them onto the clean marble floor like a poisoned waterfall beating the rocks below.

xxx

Sunlight pierced through the open window, falling onto stark white sheets. Dust floated in the light, immune to the fact that it may cause some asthmatic person to stop breathing. And this was supposed to be a hospital?

Izumi pulled herself up, grabbed the curtains with her trembling hands as best she could and yanked them closed before collapsing back down onto the pillow with a moan. She swallowed the bile that was seizing the chance for another attack, sternly telling herself that vomiting once all over the pristine marble floor of Captain Unohana's hospital was more than enough to last a lifetime. Luckily, she wasn't aware of that incident. Nurses had been sent to come clean up the mess before anyone outside the ward noticed.

Draping the quilt over her face to block out the sunlight that was ceaselessly glaring at her through the translucent curtains, she shut her eyes and listened as that boy blabbered on and on about bullshit. What was his name? Yamada…something, was it?

Thinking about it made her head hurt, so she settled on listening.

"Her BAC's pretty high which explains unconsciousness and the impairment of the bladder," the boy was saying, "and also her difficulty breathing… She was near death, but luckily we got to her just in time." He nodded slowly with his lips pursed in concentration, studying a rather interesting sheet of paper on his clipboard, before looking up at the pale man who had been silent all this while. "There's really nothing to worry about, Captain."

Jushiro let a quiet sigh escape his nostrils as he came to terms with the boy's statement. "If you say so, Hanataro."

"It'll take a few days for her to recover, though. We'll have her stay here until her body's rid of the alcohol. Depending on her system, it'll take anywhere from three days to a week before she's in top shape again. There'll be a nurse to monitor her so that nothing…nothing happens again." Hanataro chewed a little on his bottom lip, eyes darting to the floor.

"I'm terribly sorry about that, Hana-"

"No, no, it really is nothing!" he said quickly, then turned pink when he realized that he just interrupted a captain's speech. "Ah…I'm sorry! If-if you'll excuse me, Captain Ukitake, I must tend to another patient. If you need anything, please don't hesitate to call me – or the nurse. The nurse will be right outside." With a quick, deep bow that made his rear end stick out, Hanataro scampered out of the ward.

Izumi forced herself to relax when she felt the captain draw nearer, coming to stand beside the bed. An awkward silence hung in the air where Izumi could almost see the outline of Jushiro's immense spiritual pressure. She felt it weighing down upon her, nearly suffocating her. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead, sliding down her face and into her eyes.

"That," he started, and Izumi's breath caught in her throat, "was a stupid thing to do. Didn't you consider the consequences? You would have died had I not come over to investigate the rumours."

Ears pricking up at that, she mustered up the courage to lower the quilts just below her eyes and looked up at him. Upon setting her gaze on his angry frown, she shrank back, immediately feeling much smaller than before.

"They said you committed suicide once you received the news," he explained curtly, seeing the questioning look in her eyes. She gave a small nod, burrowed deeper into the sheets and turned to lie on her side with her back facing him. There really was nothing to talk about. Even if there was, she didn't want to open her mouth and engage in a conversation, no matter how short. Especially not with him and especially not now.

Izumi tried to go to sleep, but with her head hurting like a pincushion, it was next to impossible. Imagine having a rest after being stabbed with a thousand needles – with those needles still in place. What added insult to injury was the ever present, foreboding spiritual pressure of Ukitake Jushiro.

"Why…" said Izumi, tasting the horrid tang of vomit in her dry mouth. "Why…in the hell…didn't you just let me…_die_?" The last word came out with a self-condescending spit. She suddenly hated the man. Hated him for letting her live this life that no longer contained any joy for her. Hated him for soothing her pains when he wasn't who she hoped to see. Hated him for what he did and didn't do.

Feeling a hand rest gently on her shoulder, she stiffened. Jushiro's grip tightened a minuscule bit with a reassurance that she chose to ignore altogether.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, loud enough just for the two of them to hear. Someone in the corner of the small ward wouldn't be able to catch a syllable.

Izumi gritted her teeth to control the inevitable pricking at the back of her eyes. Whatever strength she had left for that was lost in vain. Tears welled up and dribbled down her cheeks.

A contained sob released itself. Ashamed, she curled up in a tight ball and, for the first time in…quite a long time, Izumi surrendered herself to sorrow.

"I hate you."

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**Beta-read by: **Laerkstrein


	3. Taboo

_Izumi surrendered herself to sorrow._

"_I hate you."_

Chapter 3: Taboo

The hospital sucked ass.

It was always so quiet around here. With the door to the ward closed, only faint footsteps and the occasional hushed conversations could be heard outside. The nurses spoke with such soft voices that one had to crane their necks forward until they were nose-to-nose just to hear – and most of the time, when the nurse and her patient got that close, she would back away. In serious cases, the patient actually fell right off the bed in an all-out effort to catch just a word of what she was saying.

"Good morning, Mrs. Murakami," the nurse in charge of monitoring greeted with a jovial tone that was most likely faked. Izumi didn't bother to respond to such insincerity. "You'd better get dressed. Captain Ukitake's on his way."

Izumi gave a grunt to let the nurse know that she heard her, and that she was not dead. The nurse threw back the curtains, letting the searing heat and light fall on Izumi. As if in pain, she yanked the covers over herself and curled up into a tight ball, back facing the window.

"Oh, don't be such a coward, Mrs. Murakami." The nurse gave a light-hearted chuckle that, to Izumi's ears, was some sort of mockery. "Sunlight is good for you. Here, let me get those quilts off. I need to wash them before another patient comes over." She said it as if the patient was coming over to stay the night rather than be treated for some life-threatening injury. She clutched the quilts and tugged lightly, but they wouldn't budge.

"Mrs. Murakami, I really must tend to these sheets. Please get up." She tugged again, only to be met with a harsh pull in the opposite direction that made her stumble and fall onto the patient. "Mrs. Murakami-"

The words were stuck in her throat as a light brown eye glared up at her, gleaming with pure menace.

"Shut. The fuck. Up." It was a hiss that sent shivers down the nurse's spine. The patient's spiritual pressure that had been lying dormant these past few days while in treatment spiked uncontrollably. The amount of pressure was weak, but enough to make the nurse break a sweat.

"M-Mrs. Murakami, I have to do my job…or Captain Unohana will-"

"One. More. Word. And I _will_ slaughter you."

The nurse swallowed at the threat, but her fingers were still clutching the sheets in a sort of tug-of-war frozen in time. The door swung open, and she jumped with a yelp. She spun around and met the soft gaze and amicable smile of Captain Ukitake.

"Is something the matter?"

"C-Captain Ukitake…" She glanced from him to her patient – who was, as of the moment of Ukitake's entrance, no longer her patient.

"Ah, spring-cleaning, is it?" He walked over, never breaking a sweat in the presence of the mounting spiritual pressure as opposed to the nervous young woman. "Rise and shine, Izumi. Let's get you out of here. I've brought some clothes for you since your old ones were a little soiled."

The nurse stole a glance at Ukitake. A _little _soiled? Well…that was a bit of an understatement.

Izumi didn't move; deciding instead to just lay there without a care in the world, maintaining the threat in her spiritual pressure. Ukitake, being a captain, was more than capable of tolerating such little pressure. In fact, he practically didn't feel it at all; his own drowned it out entirely.

Before the nurse could motion for a protest, he grabbed the sheets, and pulled them right out of Izumi's tight clutches and presented the nurse with them, tilting his head to the side with an easy smile that made her blush at her own apparent lack of experience with patients of this variety. Crookedly, she took the quilts from him with a stuttered "thank you" and left the room, forgetting about the pillow case that was supposed to be in today's laundry as well.

With his smile vanished into thin air, Jushiro placed the set of clothes that he had managed to dig up from his late sister's wardrobe on the bedside table. "I'll be waiting outside."

When the door closed, Izumi turned to lie on her back, cursing when the sunlight hit her square in the face. Her head pounded with pain worse than a hangover. With an empty mind, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and hopped down, feeling a mild breeze chill her naked backside. Damn hospital clothes. Quickly, she slipped into the old kimono that looked expensive despite its faded colours, and flung the backless, useless, boring dress out of the window and exited the ward.

Izumi was out of the hospital even before Jushiro was done signing the release papers. As they walked through the Seireitei, he didn't bother catching up to her; he settled for watching her back, ignoring his discontent. He didn't even bother to make light conversation. He had learned the hard way that when the woman didn't want to talk, there was no prying her mouth open. If one attempted this, one had better shut their ears and get ready for a flurry of colourful words and phrases that would make an old salt blanch.

Once they reached her small house, she went straight into the bedroom, shutting the door. She scoured the wardrobe, fingers flailing past each set of clothing till they came, rather instinctively, to rest on a particular shinigami uniform. She tore off the kimono, slipped into the much larger shihakusho, threw the mass of faded colours out of the room and slammed the door in Jushiro's bewildered face.

With a sigh, the captain bent down, picked up the discarded piece of clothing. There was silence on the other side of the door, and Jushiro decided to leave it at that. She'd come out of her shell when she was ready.

xxx

Jushiro's prediction of a few days turned into a whole week without as much as a glimpse of Izumi's nose. Though he believed that wounds such as this took a longer time to heal than physical ones – he was a first-hand witness – but this was just…utterly ridiculous.

Sentaro and Kiyone were nowhere in sight. The last he had seen of them had been earlier that morning when they handed him yet more piles of paperwork. He made sure that the corridor was empty on both sides before stealing out. In the courtyard though, he sensed the familiar pattern of a certain spiritual pressure that made him take a glance backwards at the dojo. Sure enough, there was Kiyone, stumbling towards him with a struggling Sentaro at her heels, looking like as if he was going to Hell if his fellow acting lieutenant reached their captain first.

"Captain!" Kiyone caught her breath and bowed in respect. "Where are you-"

"You'll be able to find me at the Eighth Division's barracks. Shunsui wants me to join him for another one of his drinking games." Jushiro flashed a charming smile that left Kiyone with a face as red as beet.

He felt bad for having to lie to her; she was really a nice, reliable officer whom he could count on to take his place whenever he was admitted into the hospital. But she could be a tad over-protective, and Jushiro, being one of the Captain-Commander's direct students, simply didn't need any form of protection.

Passing by the Eleventh Division's barracks, he snuck a peek through the gate. The squad members were busily sparring with each other in the open courtyard, living their normal shinigami lives as usual. To them, death was not as much as a mosquito bite.

Finally arriving at Izumi's house, he knocked on the front door and waited for a few minutes before letting himself in with some hesitation. It was dark and dusty inside; the windows were all closed and there was no form of ventilation. He had to cover his nose and mouth with his sleeve to avoid a rather horrid stench coming from the kitchen.

Jushiro crossed the small living room and knocked gently on the bedroom door. Silence. Another knock, but the silence still remained. He was beginning to fear the worse. Wrapping his fingers around the cold doorknob, he swung the door open and found Izumi lying on the floor in a motionless heap. Immediately, he was at her side, shaking her awake. She opened her eyes, looking up at him.

"Oh, for the Rukon's sake, Izumi," he muttered, his emotions a mixture of relief and annoyance. He took her forearms and dragged her to her feet. She was lighter than before, he noticed, and skinnier with a deathly pale skin tone unlike her usual light tan. "Come, you need to get yourself cleaned up." He refrained from mentioning that she smelled worse than the stench from the kitchen.

Jushiro decided that it was best to take her to his family's estate where the servants could tend to her. She didn't look even the slightest bit capable of taking care of herself.

As he sat on the balcony overlooking his garden, sipping on a cup of Kuchiki's tea, he thought he should inform Kiyone or Sentaro that he was going to be absent for the most part of the afternoon. Paperwork could wait. It wasn't like if he finished it all today, he'd have nothing waiting for him tomorrow.

Hearing footsteps down the hallway, he turned his head and smiled when he saw Izumi, dressed in an old kimono of his late sister's. It was a little baggy, but it fit well enough. He ignored the terribly dark circles around her eyes and the way her cheekbones jutted out at a sharp angle.

"Would you mind preparing a late lunch for us, Haruko?" he said to the servant.

"I'm on it, sir," she replied, excitement dancing in her eyes. A girl barely out of her teen years, Haruko was the scion of an old family who had been working for the Ukitake House for hundreds of years.

Once the maid was gone, Jushiro resumed trimming his bonsai, though his attention was more focused on the woman behind him than the plant. When the silence went on far longer than he was comfortable with, he placed the tool on the edges of the bonsai tray and turned around to face her. She didn't even seem aware of his presence; just stood there staring at the pond.

"Izumi, this has to stop," he said firmly, moving into her line of vision when she didn't look at him. "It's been over a week. It doesn't pay to grieve too long. You're only hurting yourself."

She swallowed, then looked at him for the first time since she walked out of his office days ago with an empty soup container. Her eyes were dead. "I can't hurt anymore," she whispered, voice husky from disuse, jerking a thumb at her own chest. "It's gone."

"What…" Jushiro's eyes widened as he let the words sink in. He shook his head, a deep frown creasing his eyebrows. "Nonsense."

"I can't feel it."

He stared at her for a moment before resting a hand lightly on her shoulder. She flinched at the contact, and he tightened his grip so that she couldn't pull away.

"You're being irrational. Let someone-"

"No, I'm not!" she yelled, spiritual pressure giving off a sudden flare. "You just don't understand!"

"Yes, I-"

"No, you don't! I didn't see you shed a tear when Kaien died!"

Izumi heard the swoosh of wind beside her ear, and the next thing she knew she was stumbling backwards towards the pond, hand clutching the stinging side of her face.

* * *

**Beta-read by: **Laerkstrein


	4. Resurrection

_Izumi heard the swoosh of wind beside her ear, and the next thing she knew she was stumbling backwards towards the pond, hand clutching the stinging side of her face._

Chapter 4: Resurrection

Pain shot through the left side of her face unlike anything she had ever felt before. It was like a thousand needles being stabbed right through flesh, chipping away at bone. _Did he just...?_

Before Izumi could slip and tumble over the edge of the pond, Jushiro caught her wrist and pulled her towards him, a deep, angry frown plastered to his face. It was an expression that she had never seen before, nor desired to see a second time.

"Do _not_ drag Kaien into this. He is dead. That is a fact that neither of us can change. He was one of the best lieutenants a captain could ask for, and I will not let you stain his memory in your pitiful tantrum," he whispered. All of his amicable traits had just vanished, and Izumi found herself staring at the sorrow in his green eyes; sadness that he had fought to keep hidden.

Kaien was truly one of the best shinigami in the Seireitei. Graduating from the academy as a prodigy student, he was approached by Jushiro who had talked him into becoming his lieutenant. Kaien had been reluctant at first, unwilling to accept such a high ranking position when he was still fresh out of the academy. But the kindness and care Jushiro showed towards his subordinates and underlings had convinced him to inherit the title. Other shinigami looked up to him as much as they looked up to his captain, not excluding Izumi herself.

"Kaien…" Jushiro loosened his painful grip around Izumi's wrist, his expression softening. "He fought for honour, and I had no right to intervene. Even though my lack of action took his life, I have never regretted my choice. If I had done otherwise, Kaien would have lived with insufferable guilt and dishonour. A fate as bad as death itself." He released her wrist with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry if I appeared rather nonchalant about his death…but with wisdom and knowledge comes a price. I've seen too much, felt the agony, heard desperate cries of pain. I can never forget the first day I set foot on the battlefield, or the burning blood upon my skin. Tears no longer flow from these eyes."

Izumi stared up at the man, trying to imagine what he would look like if he was in her state right now, whining and crying…like an irritating little baby… No, it didn't fit him at all. He was strong; hard as nails, with a soul not easily shattered.

Rubbing her aching cheek, she looked away in shame. She winced in surprise when he suddenly burst out in a light-hearted chuckle, a somewhat perverse move in a time like this.

"You'll understand when you experience it for yourself." Moving closer towards her, he nudged her hand away and cradled her cheek in his palm. He sighed at her red puffy eyes, shaking his head. "What am I to do with you?"

Haruko came trotting down the hallway, skidding to a stop when she found her master. "Master Ukitake," she called out in a sing-song voice, "lunch is ready!"

"Ah, finally." Jushiro nodded to acknowledge the servant girl and began to walk the garden pathway towards the house. He knew from the start that Izumi wasn't following, but he continued on nonetheless. After about twenty or more strides, he swallowed a frustrated sigh and turned around. "_Izumi_."

Hearing that stern tone, she broke out of her reverie and trailed after him into the house.

Lunch was set out in a lavish gourmet. Jushiro relentlessly piled food into Izumi's bowl, ignoring her mute protests. She'd glare at him, but for the moment all her strength was gone. The only thing she could do was watch as he loaded heaps upon heaps of venison and fish, tofu and greens – oh, especially the greens. This, at least, made Izumi hold her bowl out of reach, but with an uncompromising stare from the man, she ultimately gave in. They ate in a silence broken only by the soft clicks of wooden chopsticks upon china.

Always the faster eater, Izumi finished first. Jushiro checked her bowl and was pleasantly surprised to see that she had gobbled everything up. Spending days in a hospital, cooped up in a dark room and releasing spiritual pressure could easily cause an appetite of hers to match that of the Eleventh Division's captain.

Izumi left the dining hall and went to sit on the balcony, gazing out at the Ukitake House's garden. She could see a dozen or more carps in the crystal clear pond, idly swimming around without a care in the world. Every part of her wished that she could drown herself in that pond and transform into a carp, living out the rest of her life in the Ukitake Garden. It didn't really sound so bad now that she thought about it.

Standing on the stone bridge over the pond, she leaned against the banister and squinted at the water. Her reflection stared back up at her, and she saw just how horrid she had become. Someone who was supposed to be dead but was resurrected with the sole purpose of dying again… She didn't really understand that, but the concept appealed to and spat at her all at the same time.

But really, wasn't that all there was to life? One lived just to die. After dying on earth, a soul led another life in Soul Society. When the soul died here, it was reincarnated as a human being back on earth, and the cycle continued. That was all a soul could do. Live, and than die. Live, die.

It wouldn't be so bad to die now, would it?

"What do you think you are doing?"

"I wanna be a fish…" The question caught her off guard, and she spun around to face Jushiro. He had his arms folded across his chest and he didn't look the slightest bit pleased.

"What was that?"

Izumi bit her bottom lip to refrain from cursing, then turned back to the pond. Jushiro stepped forward, and they stood side by side on the bridge watching the carps as they swam in and out of their field of vision.

"Uh…Jushiro?" she began, swallowing her unease.

"Mm?"

"Uh…I'm, um...I'm…sorry…" It was difficult to get those words out, knowing that she really _had_ done something to make her feel genuinely sorry. Apologies simply weren't her forte.

He looked at her, giving her that tender smile of his that made her feel even more guilty…but strangely warming her heart at the same time. "Forgiven and forgotten."

She nodded crookedly, a surge of relief flooding her from within. "…Thanks."

xxx

"I suspect it doesn't hurt any longer now, does it?" Jushiro now stood at the front gates of his compound, facing Izumi with an expression of slight worry. She rubbed her previously abused cheek experimentally and shook her head.

"No."

"Good. But I won't be apologizing for that. You deserved it."

"I know."

His smile dropped at her low spirits. After an hour of relaxing in the garden, he thought it would be enough to quell her sadness, but he was wrong. "If you continue to wallow in self-pity, I have no choice but to give you another piece of my mind. Would you like that?"

Izumi forced a grin that came out as a miserable tug at the corner of her mouth. "No, thanks. Once was…quite enough."

He nodded, crossing his arms. "I want this to be the last time I hear of it, all right? I know Saito wouldn't have wanted this. Imagine what he'll say if he sees you in such a state. He'll probably-"

"I _know_, okay?" Izumi rubbed her eyes, now dry and painful from shedding too many tears. Jushiro's tone softened.

"Yes, you do know, don't you? And I expect you to remember it." He rested a hand on her shoulder and gently pulled her a little closer to him. "Dead he may be-" Izumi looked away at the word "-but his memory will always remain with you, stored deep inside your soul. Nobody can take that away. I know you won't let them."

Izumi nodded her agreement, though the gesture was rather strained, and stepped back. "Thanks, captain."

Jushiro's hand returned to his side. "My pleasure, Murakami."

xxx

Upon entering her home, Izumi recoiled at the stench. Pinching her nose, she went to the kitchen and found remnants of vomit all over the floor; the more watery fluids had etched themselves into the fibers of the wood. Izumi had a strong urge to clean it up, but she just couldn't find the energy in her any longer.

Making a mental note to set everything back in order once she replenished her strength, she walked past broken sake glasses and yellow blots on the floor towards the bedroom. She threw the door open. Last time she would have expected to see her husband sprawled out on the bed snoring away, but now it was empty and devoid of life.

Izumi lay on Saito's side of the bed, clutching the sheets to her chest for warmth and comfort. The scent of him still lingered, fleeting whiffs of sake, sweat and shampoo. Tears began to well up in her eyes again, and Jushiro's words suddenly boomed in her ears.

Stumbling through the darkness, she came to the wardrobe and dug through, flinging clothes of less importance over her shoulder until she found it. Stored in the deepest, darkest corner of the closet was a katana, a blade she hadn't seen or touched for a long, long time that she had forgotten how it felt like.

Izumi reached out, hand trembling, and grasped the hilt that was wrapped in white criss-crossing cloth. Swallowing her anxiety, she pulled the katana out of its sheath and gazed in wonder at its blade, which was as good as new since the first day she acquired it.

Her thumb caressed its cross guard, as if trying to gauge a memory. She let two fingers slide along the blade's flat side. Her reflection gazed back at her, eyes speaking forth a dare.

Holding it upright with both hands, Izumi took in the sight of her zanpakuto.

"_The Eleventh Division is specially trained to fight on the front lines. Dispatching a few Hollows is mere child's play to them."_

And Izumi swallowed the zanpakuto's mute challenge.

* * *

**Beta-read by: **Laerkstrein


	5. Prove Your Worth

"_The Eleventh Division is specially trained to fight on the front lines. Dispatching a few Hollows is mere child's play to them."_

_And Izumi swallowed the zanpakuto's mute challenge._

Chapter 5: Prove Your Worth

The Seireitei was blessed with a crisp, clear morning that ushered in the waking chirps of early birds and annoyed groans of shinigami. The sun, shining; the clouds, big, white and puffy. And all the clichés that went with a good morning.

It showed promise of a great day for everyone except the new recruits of the Eleventh Division. They were all lined up in the barracks, supervised by the two highest seated officers while awaiting the arrival of their captain. Most of them had enlisted a few weeks before, after graduation from the Academy. Some, who had been denied places in the other squads the first time they went to enlist, had given up on pleading, and finally decided to join the Eleventh.

It was not unheard of for shinigami who failed to be accepted into other squads – namely the Sixth Division which was infamous for its high standards – to hurtle straight into the Eleventh. Those who failed the entrance exam – which every shinigami was required to sit for and pass to join the Gotei 13 – went straight for the Eleventh because they knew that that was the "no-pressure" squad. All that the captain wanted was some fighting spirit. Raw strength was what kept the Eleventh afloat, and they were famous for melee combat, making them one of the most specialized divisions of the Gotei 13.

The Eleventh Division, in some ways, had come to be known as a dump for rejects with brute force and no brains.

The new recruits were clearly nervous. They sniffed, fidgeted, fingered the hilts of their zanpakuto and shifted their weight from foot to foot. Waiting for the captain was like anticipating their own execution.

One recruit, a young man just out of his teens, who had been one of the few with enough brains to pass the entrance exam, jumped out of line with a small yelp when the double-doors swung open, ushering in a blur of pink and black. The blur leaped, did a somersault over the long line of recruits, and landed neatly on the other side.

The young man, along with his fellow shinigami, swallowed at the sight of the bright smile on Lieutenant Kusajishi Yachiru's face. Her ruby eyes, shining with glee, darted from recruit to recruit. With each passing face, her beam grew wider, and the men's anxiety increased sevenfold.

It was then that the child spun her pink-sheathed zanpakuto above her head, excitedly calling out the name that made the breath catch in each man's throat – or rather, the abbreviation of said name: "Ken-chan, they're-"

The doors flew open mid-sentence, and a sudden flow of spiritual pressure filled the barracks. The large hall seemed to shrink into itself, becoming smaller and smaller, compressing the spiritual pressure of the other shinigami. Sweat formed as massive droplets on the recruits' foreheads and palms. The ones with less than average spiritual pressure began to feel their knees weakening.

Zaraki Kenpachi, captain of the Eleventh Division, stood in the doorway. His single eye that seemed to reflect the very heart of the tempest moved around in its socket, inspecting the recruits. Some he recognized from when they had joined several weeks before, while there was still a handful he couldn't quite remember, except for a few. And then there was that one whom he couldn't identify at all – much to his annoyance, since he knew he was quite good with faces.

But still, all of them were, as far as he could tell, little weak-ass pansies. They were mere rats in his presence – maybe even less.

Leaving the door open for Yumichika, his Fifth Seat officer to close, Kenpachi strode between the two lines of new recruits, promptly speaking the same words he used when he first addressed his squad the day he became captain: "I don't give a shit 'bout where ye came from, how old, or fucked up yer records are, or whatever the hell ye did in yer past goddamn life."

He reached the front of the line, muttering the last word, and turned on his heel to face them. They were close to cowering now, with sweat glistening on their faces and necks. Kenpachi was not unused to it, but he couldn't stand how all the weaklings were drawn to his squad. He gave a light scoff of condescension and heard a loud swallow coming from one of the recruits to his left. Looking over, he found a young man, who appeared very much like a boy, with his eyes glued to the floor.

"Che. Scared already?" Kenpachi drawled, slightly mocking the boy. "Quit if ye want, but once ye're out, ye ain't comin' back in."

The boy gripped his fists tighter until his knuckles turned white, swallowed again, and stood his ground. Kenpachi grinned to himself. At least the kid had some guts. To be in Squad Eleven, one had to have strength, but determination was also a must. He thought that, without a steadfast resolve, a shinigami wasn't man enough to be in his squad.

Kenpachi was about to open his mouth to confirm the new recruits' acceptance into the squad when Yachiru leaped onto his right shoulder at the same time Yumichika came to his left side.

"Ken-chan-"

"Captain, here's the list of-"

"Let's go get some candy. This is _bo_ring! Ken-_chan_, you're ignoring me!"

"Excuse me, Lieutenant, but-"

"Shut up, Feather-face! Ken-chan, let's go, let's go, let's go!"

"Captain, please-"

Even Third Seat Madarame Ikkaku flinched at the sudden spike of spiritual pressure flaring from his captain at that moment. The recruits, given their weaker spiritual pressure, had a harder time putting up with it. Some staggered back while others had to hold on to their neighbour's shoulders for support. Yumichika fell silent immediately, and the only thing that broke the stillness dense with Kenpachi's energy was Yachiru's constant whining in his ear.

"All right brat, I'll take ye to the damn store," he growled, gently clasping a large hand over her mouth to muffle her voice. "Jus' shut up for a minute. What was that, Yumichika?"

Ayasegawa cleared his throat and handed a list of names to his captain, ignoring Yachiru's little pink tongue. "This is the revised version of the names of the new recruits. Some decided to quit yesterday so I drew up another list. Everyone is here, but only a few are absent-"

"Cross 'em out." Kenpachi had no patience for weaklings without a sense of responsibility. Once you're in Squad Eleven, you stay in Squad Eleven. There was no backing out.

"Right." Yumichika made a mental note. He was good with names and faces, and already he knew everyone in the squad, old and new. Kenpachi had to give thanks for such a diligent officer. That meant that he could have more time to spend with Yachiru and taking the afternoon naps he fancied. "They're supposed to complete their trials today and become full-fledged members, but there happens to be another new recruit. She just came in this morning. Her records…aren't so good and she doesn't seem to be a very capable fighter."

Kenpachi groaned, scanning the list. Names of weak-ass pansies. Really, what _was_ the Academy doing with their students?

He walked slowly between the two lines and began to call out the names, hoping that those skinny brats he had seen the day before had built up some brawn overnight.

"Takahiro Kazuki."

"Yes, sir."

Out of the corner of his eye, Kenpachi caught sight of a young man with spiky red hair that somehow reminded him of "Princess" Kuchiki's tattooed lieutenant.

"Ye ain't related to Abarai, are ye?"

Takahiro's face lit up with an amused grin. "Nope. Not at all, sir."

Good. One Renji was more than enough. Kenpachi had his eye on Takahiro about four days into his enlisting. The boy showed talent in swordsmanship, and the level he maintained with his spiritual pressure wasn't too shabby, either. And he had guts.

"Wipe that smile off yer face, kid." That grin was infectious. Kenpachi returned to his list. "Kurosawa Misaki."

"Y-yes, sir?"

Kenpachi nearly burst out laughing when he saw the man – _boy – _whose name he had just uttered. He was noticeably short; the top of his head only reached just below Kenpachi's collarbone. With wavy, shoulder-length, light brown hair, he could have easily been mistaken for a girl. Throw in two halves of a coconut under that shihakusho, and Misaki could be parading around with no suspicion of his being a male.

"Ye should put on some muscle, brat." He was one of the many recruits Kenpachi wanted to wipe off the list, but since Misaki kept coming back, he had decided to give him a chance. It was all determination.

"Tokitsu Ueshiba."

"Sir!"

This one was a young 'un on the verge of reaching adulthood, just slightly younger than his two fellow shinigami. He looked very much like his father with a black buzz-cut, a sharp nose, and blue eyes burning with tenacity. His swordsmanship showed promise, as well as his spiritual pressure.

"Keep up the good work and you'd prob'ly be the second Matsuda."

Ueshiba's eyes lit up at the captain's words, but he tried to conceal his elation with a curt nod. His father had been the Seventh Seat before being killed by a Hollow in the last mission, and since then Kenpachi had been keeping an eye on the boy's rapid progress. That promotion didn't look too far off.

Kenpachi scanned through the list. At least the young ones were still here. Most of them. The brats were great assets to the team since they were faster learners than the older ones. Like the saying goes: you can't teach an old shinigami new sword dances. It was possible, but took a significantly longer amount of time.

His eyes came to the last name at the far bottom which was, unlike the rest of the document that was neatly typed out, scrawled in what Kenpachi could only recognize as Ikkaku's terrible handwriting.

"Murakami Izumi."

There was no answer. Kenpachi growled, patience dwindling. Yachiru was beginning to get fidgety and her fingers started to wander through his spiked hair. Just when he was about to swat her hands away, she pointed and gave a shout of triumph. Kenpachi looked down the line on his right and spotted a raised hand. He stormed over, disentangling the little runt's fingers out of his spikes on the way, and glared down his hooked nose at the trembling brunette before him.

"What are ye, mute or somethin'?" he barked.

"No, sir. S-sorry, sir."

"That's the new kid," said Ikkaku, grinning at his captain apologetically when he noticed the glare threatening to burn a hole through the paper. "Saito's woman."

Kenpachi gave her a brief once-over, grunted and turned on his heel towards his two trusted officers.

"Do you want to go ahead with the trials completion, captain?" Yumichika asked, taking the list from Kenpachi. The man folded his arms across his chest and examined the lot of unpromising Squad Eleven wannabes. He had to admit that this year was one of the worst he had experienced in his long reign as captain. There was even a _woman_ who had dared step into the male-dominated division.

But Kenpachi knew exactly what her motive was. Ueshiba's father, Matsuda, had died alongside the woman's husband, Saito. Ueshiba was here to carry on his clan's long line of seated officers serving in the Eleventh Division, but Kenpachi could see in Murakami's eyes that behind that veil of fear lay a driving force like no other. The woman was out for blood.

"I'm _bored_, Ken-chan!" Yachiru whined, pounding her little fists on his solid chest. Suddenly, Kenpachi got an idea that would provide the runt with some fun _and_ clear out the weaklings at the same time. He turned to Ikkaku and Yumichika with one of his feral grins. A grin that the two understood instantly.

Ikkaku stepped forward and cleared his throat loudly, gaining the attention of the recruits. "All right, ass wipes! Ye know the drill. Pick a partner – not the same guy as yesterday – and spar yer ass off!"

The Third Seat smirked at the incredulous looks on their faces. They had been promised a trial completion today. That they would finally be recognized as real members of Squad Eleven. But Captain Kenpachi hadn't said that there _wasn't_ going to be one last sparring session to prove their worth.

And the last one should always be the best.

"Keep it messy."

xxx

Swallowing their protests, the recruits shuffled about looking for partners to spar with. Kazuki was quick to take Misaki, flashing a smile at him that reassured the smaller male that the redhead was going to go easy on him.

Ueshiba, who was one of the most talented of the group, went for a stronger shinigami: an older man that Ueshiba had come to know and look up to. They bowed in respect to each other and the battle began.

Izumi, on the other hand, stood in the corner of the courtyard watching the sparring session like an idiot. The blades of zanpakuto caught the sunlight, reflecting the glare from Kazuki's blade in her eyes, blinding her momentarily. He didn't seem to notice as he swung the sword at Misaki, laughing when his quarry dodged.

It was easy to notice that the other recruits – all of them male – hadn't bothered to even spare her a glance before going off to pick out partners. Clearly they thought a woman was no match for their masculinity.

And they were right.

Joining the Eleventh Division was starting to look like a rather dumb idea. The type of idea that would normally be concocted by fools.

Izumi's hand trailed unconsciously to the hilt of her own zanpakuto. It felt strange carrying it by her side again after so many years. She could feel a faint spiritual pressure emanating from it; warm but ice cold at the same time. It prickled her fingertips whenever they brushed the hilt. That didn't offer much comfort – which was what she really needed.

"Hey, Panda-chan!"

Izumi looked up to see the pink-haired child who had startled the crap out of one of the recruits earlier on. She had already forgotten her name, but to think that that little kid was the lieutenant of the notorious Squad Eleven… Izumi couldn't believe it.

"'Panda-chan'?" Izumi repeated.

"Yep, that's your new nickname," the child chirped. "Like it?"

Izumi scoffed, her thumb stroking the base of the zanpakuto's hilt.

"You look bored. I'm bored, too. Let's play!"

"_Play_?" She had no time to play with little brats with nothing better to do than to annoy adults.

"Yep. Ken-chan told me to play with the new recruits. And since all of 'em are playin' with each other, I thought I'd play with you, since you got no one else to play with."

Izumi stared at the girl, blinking in puzzlement. The lieutenant of the squad she was now enlisting for was a little pink-haired infant with constant blushes on her cheeks, and a hobby of "playing" with new recruits. The captain – as far as she had heard – was a thug who had raw strength, no brains and an obsession with battle.

She wondered what he had been doing with his hair. How the hell did those long tresses defy gravity like that? And what the _hell _was he doing with all those bells? He really didn't seem the type to be busying himself with hairstyles.

When Izumi had witnessed the argument between Captain Kenpachi and the child, she had nearly burst out laughing right then and there. It was…strange to see a large man with an eye patch and an overwhelming spiritual pressure bow down to the wishes of one small girl who hung on his shoulder and busied herself with his hair whenever she got restless.

Really, the captain and his so-called lieutenant weren't exactly what Izumi had in mind.

The child was insistently tugging her hakama. "Let's play, Panda-chan! I'm so bored. Ken-chan won't take me out to buy candy. Not till this whole spar thingy's over with."

"Wait." Izumi moved away so that her hakama wasn't prone to the kid's itchy hands. "Why 'Panda-chan'?"

"Well," she pointed up at Izumi's face with an innocent tilt of her head to the side, "your eyes are like a panda's."

That was the last straw.

Izumi gritted her teeth and hid her anger behind a strained grin. "You wanna play?"

The little brat's face lit up like a light bulb and she spun her zanpakuto, wheeled sheath and all, above her head. "Yep, yep!"

"Fine."

Izumi gripped the hilt of her zanpakuto and slid it out of its sheath, the first time she had done so since the previous night. Her opponent was a kid, but she was a lieutenant, nonetheless. Izumi didn't expect to play dolls with her, and Captain Kenpachi shouldn't be expecting that either.

Izumi's fingers curled awkwardly around the hilt, and the rough texture of criss-crossing cloth dug into her palms. She had forgotten how to wield a sword…but this was just a kid.

Nothing could go wrong…right?

* * *

**Beta-read by: **Laerkstrein


	6. Haemorrhaging

_She had forgotten how to wield a sword…but this was just a kid. _

_Nothing could go wrong…right?_

Chapter 6: Haemorrhaging

Kids were a nuisance. They were little whiny brats who did nothing but drink, pee, eat, poop, burp, eat more, and then poop again – though the second round had a much more horrid stench than the first – before having to be held, cradled and waltzed to sleep by a ridiculous lullaby which had no taste for lyrics whatsoever.

Izumi hadn't much dislike for kids. She had a fondness for some of them. One perfect example was the little sister of Haruko, the servant girl working for Ukitake. Much like everyone else, she preferred kids who were obedient, respectful and polite.

So when Izumi decided to try her hand at combat with one particular child, the lieutenant of the Eleventh Division, she had thought that victory was already secured to her belt. Really, what could a child do to an adult?

That was what she had thought when the "game" started. The kid spun her zanpakuto above her head, giggling all the way.

"Let's play tag!"

Tag. A game that Izumi had played countless of times before during her childhood. She was more than familiar with it. This shouldn't be a problem.

Or so she had thought.

Izumi chucked her zanpakuto to the ground and lunged for the girl with a wicked grin, mentally drawing up ideas of how to release her anger on the child for the name-calling. But all she managed to catch was air. Thin, crisp, early morning air.

_Damn!_

"That's not how you play _tag_!"

Spinning around, Izumi found herself staring into the lieutenant's eyes. Wide ruby orbs blinked at her several times before her reflexes kicked into place, causing her to push the child away. The kid did a backwards somersault – which Izumi just had to stare in awe at – and landed neatly on her two little feet. She looked back at the woman with a sour pout, pointing wildly at Izumi's abandoned zanpakuto.

"You're s'posed to swing _that_ at me. Like the other dudes there, see?"

Izumi stared at her, incredulous. Yes, the child was a lieutenant. Yes, this was practically a sparring session. And _yes_, zanpakuto were a must. But…weren't tag and sparring two widely different things?

With a scoff at the child's insistent whines, Izumi picked up her zanpakuto. Be it tagging, sparring or shitting, she was going to win nonetheless. Who the hell could ever lose to a little pink-haired infant with constant blushes on her cheeks and a penchant for "playing" with new recruits? She'd be damned if that were the case.

"All right, fine." Izumi charged forward, zanpakuto raised above her head, but as she was about to swing the blade down upon the child, she faltered. That one moment of hesitation was more than enough time for her opponent to dash behind her and give her a kick between her shoulder blades, sending her stumbling forwards.

_What in the hell…? _

Izumi looked over her shoulder, and froze when she saw the child standing there with a wide beam plastered to her face.

"Slow poke!" She laughed, pointing.

Growling, Izumi sprung at the child, flailing her blade around and around like it was the last thing she could do before the end of her life. And every time she came down with the sword, there was nothing in front of her to cut except air.

The lieutenant was really living up to her title in matters of speed. She was a blur of pink and black that Izumi couldn't catch up with no matter how hard she tried to focus.

"You asked for it, kid!" she yelled in frustration, the last thin thread of her patience finally snapping, and leaped for the little brat. She came down with the sword as hard she could, but only struck the dense earth. The impact sent vibrations resonating through her fingers, hands and arms up to her very brain. The kid gave her another one of her mischievous kicks in the back, and Izumi was sent sprawling to the ground.

"Aw…over already?" The lieutenant stepped towards Izumi's fallen body and crouched down to inspect her. She poked at her head a few times before eliciting an annoyed groan from her playmate – a rather reluctant one at that. "Oh, well. Guess you're done."

Leaping to her feet, she trotted away, spinning her sheathed zanpakuto above her head which, throughout the length of the "game," hadn't been released even once.

When Kenpachi heard his lieutenant calling him, he tilted his head back with an irritated groan. He had thought that, with the recruits there to keep her entertained, he could catch up with paperwork.

He had been forced to spend the whole of the previous night putting up with Yachiru's demands for bedtime stories and, though this was already considered normal as it had been put into practise since the early days, it had been a very particular night. Yachiru had a bit of a "problem" going to sleep. Either that, or she just wanted to push Kenpachi's patience to its limit and keep him from doing his job.

Leaving the paperwork to Yumichika, he went and stood in the doorway of the barracks. He was pleased to see that the recruits were at least having quite a vigorous sparring session. Butts were getting kicked, and the outcome of the spars was going to determine under which seated officer they were going to serve under.

Kenpachi's eye did a quick examination of the battles taking place in the courtyard before coming to rest on the little pink bob skipping up to him.

"What, brat?"

"Panda-chan's knocked out. What're we gonna do?"

Kenpachi looked at the figure sprawled out on the ground, left behind in the dust in Yachiru's wake, and cursed the woman for being such a weakling who couldn't even take the runt's mind off candy for one minute before glancing back at Yumichika. "Cross 'er out."

His Fifth Seat looked up from the paperwork – which he had so conveniently brought over from the captain's office so that Kenpachi could work on it this morning – with a confused raise of his feathered brow. "Who?"

"Can we go get some candy _now_, Ken-chan?" Yachiru asked, leaving Yumichika's question unanswered.

"Che. Bored already, eh?" Kenpachi wasn't surprised though. He almost expected it.

"You betcha!"

With a sigh, Kenpachi popped the bones in his neck and gave a nod at his two seated officers: Yumichika who was in charge of paperwork and general bullshit that came in black and white, and Ikkaku who supervised and took over training of the recruits whenever Kenpachi retired for a nap or was dragged into going to some store that Yachiru fancied – most often it was the confectioner.

"Take care of 'em bastards, both o' ye."

Yumichika nodded, though he still didn't know who it was the captain wanted to cross out. Ikkaku waved nonchalantly, eyes focused on the combatants. Both of them were more than used to their captain's frequent outgoings with their lieutenant.

Kenpachi jerked his head towards the entrance gates. "Hop on, runt. Ain't no time to be wastin' on half-assed pansies."

At the sound of that, Izumi's ears pricked up. Her grip on the hilt of her zanpakuto tightened, and a sudden flame burned alive deep inside her chest, threatening to implode from naked shame.

In a split second, she was on her feet and charging towards the pink-haired child of a lieutenant, whose back was facing her. With a near sadistic glint in her eyes, Izumi brought the blade down upon her prey.

Something hard and wooden smacked her square in the face, sending her whirling around. Another solid hit to the back of her head ousted her out of reality and, before she succumbed to pitch darkness, the only thought that ran through her mind was: _I fuckin' hate kids._

xxx

A rude awakening from sleep was – usually – a bucket of ice cold water. That would have sent the victim over the edge of being pissed and into the realm where curse words were the best thing that ever happened to the world – for human and shinigami alike.

Izumi was jerked awake from unconsciousness by a somewhat more uncouth method. First, she was splashed with ice cold water – the norm – and that caused her eyes to snap open with a gasp. She earned another splash of that when it took her, say, three seconds to get to her feet, which sent her falling back down on her rear end.

Wiping the moisture from her eyes, she looked up at the male shinigami standing before her, a bucket and broom in each hand.

"What the fuck?"

"'What the fuck' my ass. Time to get to work, princess." He flung the broom at her, whose wooden handle struck her in the forehead, and dunked the remaining water from the bucket on her. "There ain't no room for slackin' off."

Izumi stared up at him in confusion, ignoring the bitter cold as it seeped into her skin. "Work?"

"Yes, _work_." He chucked the bucket through an open doorway which led to what seemed like a storeroom. Inside there were brooms and mops, buckets and torn towels and bottles of detergent which came in every colour possible. "That was a nasty hit ye got from the lieutenant, but I didn't think it'd mess with yer head this much."

As if on cue, a stab of pain in the back of her head made her double over with a surprised groan. Prodding the source, she found a fairly big lump – and it seemed to still be growing. A sudden sneeze overcame her, and pain shot through her nose, squeezing out an involuntary yelp. With her free hand, she felt her nose, and the slightest nudge renewed the sharp ache. Something warm and wet dripped onto her palm.

"Am I…_bleeding_?"

"No, ye're _bullshit'n._" The man disappeared into the storeroom, leaving Izumi to stare at the splotches of blood on her palm in wondrous panic. After a moment, he came back out and threw her a roll of tissue paper. "Don't want ye haemorrhagegin' all over the place after we done our work."

Izumi stared up at him with one small roll of tissue sticking out of a nostril. "What?"

"_Hae-morr-ha-ge-gin'_," he said slowly as if speaking to an illiterate child, rubbing the back of his neck in uncertainty. "Eh, that's what the captain says anyway."

"It's _haemorrhaging_," Izumi said bluntly, sticking another roll of tissue into her other nostril, watching in amusement as he began to sweat.

"That's what I said… Haemorrhagegin'."

"No, you said-"

"Shut the fuck up and get on with yer job!" And with that, the man stormed away with his spiritual pressure flaring up; a bonfire encasing his very being. Izumi just watched him walk down the empty corridor and disappear around a corner, wondering just what was it she had said to piss the guy off.

xxx

After walking around the barracks with a broom over her shoulder, looking for something to do, Izumi finally came across the Tenth Seat officer Aramaki Makizo. She had managed to catch up with the shinigami that she had angered earlier and, following a long sequence of verbal abuse, got the answer to her question.

Just what the _hell _was she supposed to do around here? Aramaki was the answer.

"Name?" the Tenth Seat asked, scanning a duty roster pinned up on the notice board in the barracks.

"Murakami Izumi."

"Oh, yes. Saito's wife, right? Sorry about your loss." He sounded distracted, but Izumi decided to ignore the statement completely. After looking through the roster, he came to a conclusion that her name wasn't on the list – which was normal since the roster hadn't been updated in more than a month.

At the back of his mind, he wondered why he even bothered to check an outdated roster for a name that only appeared today.

Aramaki turned to her and folded his arms across his chest, feigning a superior stance.

"You've been assigned to work under me, so all you'll be doing around here is chores, chores, and more chores. Since this is your first day, I'll tell you what you need to know. Every morning, you report to me here in the barracks along with the other shinigami in my team. You'll be assigned different locations to carry out your duty every day, so reporting first thing in the morning is compulsory. That's when you get your equipment as well. Following me so far?" At the nod from Izumi, he continued, "All right. So…you're stationed at the West Gate. Sweep, clean, do everything to keep the place in top shape or you'll be in for it."

"In for what?"

Aramaki was about to open his mouth to reply when he found out that he didn't know the answer, and paled. "Well…it's a surprise."

"Aren't surprises good?"

Aramaki grabbed a nearby broomstick and swatted her in the face with it. "Stop talking and start cleaning!"

xxx

The West Gate area wasn't much of a rubbish dump. Hell, it didn't exhibit any trash of any sort _any_where. Gods knew why Aramaki had stationed two shinigami there to sweep nothing but natural dust off the streets.

Leaning against the wall, Izumi tilted her head back and closed her eyes, but the sun continued to glare down at her, piercing through the lids. Fuck the sunlight. She moved into the shade and sat down cross-legged. And she thought of Saito.

What was it like to die and be reborn as a human being in the next life? That was one question that Izumi had always thought about since Saito's death. In the hospital, she hadn't stopped thinking about death.

Death had been her sole companion in that immaculate room of whitewashed walls and cold marble floor. Death had been whispering its offers into her ear, day and night, and always she had been too weak to reply. If she had been stronger, there was no doubt what choice she would have made.

Slowly letting out a breath that seemed to carry some of the heavy sorrow from deep within her chest, Izumi leaned forwards and rested her chin in a palm. As she watched her partner for the day, that she-male Kurosawa Misaki, sweep imaginary dust, Izumi vowed to herself that Saito's death was not going to be in vain. She wouldn't let him die for nothing.

xxx

The day had been long and uneventful. Sweeping floors was what a housewife did every single day. To say that Izumi was terribly bored of it was an understatement. When dusk finally arrived and they could go home, Izumi mentally whooped for joy as she trailed behind Misaki to the barracks. After keeping the equipment in the storeroom, they reported back to Aramaki and were then dismissed.

The first thing Izumi did when she stumbled through the door of her tiny apartment was scour the whole place for sake. When there was none, the curse that reverberated within the walls of the apartment could easily stop a charging bull in its tracks.

Too lazy to go out and buy more, Izumi settled for a light dinner of stale bread, cheese and some tea which Jushiro had given her a long time ago. He had been trying to get her to stop her drinking habit by presenting her heaps upon heaps of tea leaves, but it never worked. She was too influenced by her husband and was _not_ going to give up sake even though he was already…dead.

Izumi gobbled down the scalding tea. Ignoring her burning tongue and the tears pricking behind her eyeballs – partly from physical pain but mostly from the anticipation of yet another emotional breakdown – she washed the dishes, left them in the rack to dry and stood in the middle of the kitchen with fists clenched by her sides.

"I need sake goddamn-"

Three knocks on the door cut her off mid-sentence and made her jump out of her skin. Crossing the living room, she grabbed the knob, threw open the door and growled, "What?"

"Good evening to you too, Izumi." There on the doorstep stood Ukitake Jushiro with one of his easy smiles and his head tilted to one side. The gesture reminded her too much of that little pink-haired bob of a lieutenant, and she groaned in remembrance. A frown came over him. "Something the matter?"

Waving her hand in dismissal, she invited him in and closed the door. Luckily she had the sense to clean up the house this morning, just before she took off to the Eleventh Division barracks. The stench of vomit nearly made her throw up, and she wouldn't want Jushiro to think of her as someone with no care for hygiene.

"I heard you've joined the Eleventh Division," Jushiro stated nonchalantly once he was seated at the small, round kitchen table.

Izumi was quiet for a moment while she threw in the ingredients for Jushiro's herbal soup into the pot.

"Well, yeah," she said uncertainly. "Where…where'd you hear that?"

"Kiyone told me."

Izumi refrained from cursing that Third Seat. Or acting lieutenant. Couldn't she just keep her mouth shut for once?

"Is she your…spy or something?"

"Kiyone isn't a spy. She's merely an observer." Jushiro sipped his tea, but even the exotic taste of Kuchiki's tea leaves and the pooling of warm liquid in the pit of his stomach didn't satisfy him as much as it did on other, more normal, days.

"Right."

An awkward silence hung in the air where Izumi was glad that she had her back to Jushiro. She continued stirring the soup, hanging her face over the edge of the pot to bask in the steam. When it was done, she turned off the stove, filled a bowl and placed it in front of him.

"You should have told me."

At the tone of his voice, Izumi looked up to meet Jushiro's deep green eyes, and when she saw the obvious hurt in them, she couldn't help but feel a sharp stab in her chest. But no matter how much she wanted to look away, she couldn't, and the pain only grew more with each passing second of uncomfortable stillness.

Finally, a chuckle left her. A small, self-condemning laugh of perversion, and when Jushiro recovered from his surprise, he reached out to touch her wrist only to have his fingertips graze skin and then nothing more.

Izumi dropped into the chair opposite him and leaned back, head tilted over the edge of the backrest. A small sound that Jushiro could only identify as a muffled sob escaped amidst the chuckles as they became denser and denser with barely contained insanity.

For a moment in time, Jushiro was overcome by fear that froze him in place as Izumi stared straight at him with the grin of a madman.

"Do I have to tell my best friend _everything_, Juu-chan?"

* * *

**Beta-read by: **Laerkstrein


	7. The Twisted Tempest

_For a moment in time, Jushiro__ was overcome by fear that froze him in place as Izumi stared straight at him with the grin of a madman._

"_Do I have to tell my best friend everything, Juu-chan?"_

Chapter 7: The Twisted Tempest

The sky darkened as puffs of clouds obscured the full moon, rendering the streets of Seireitei dark and dismal without its calming light. Lightning flashed in the distance, followed by a rumble of thunder that shook the Eleventh Division barracks to its very foundations.

"Go to bed, brat. It's way past yer bedtime," Kenpachi grumbled as he read through the list of new recruits and which seated officer they had been placed under. Yumichika had done most of the paperwork – fortunately – but as the captain, he still needed to give it a look-see and the final seal of approval.

"No, it's not." Yachiru pouted from her little desk in the corner, looking up from her piece of rudimentary art.

"Ye sure?" Kenpachi grinned, only to be met with a red crayon in the forehead. With a growl, he gripped the crayon and squeezed it in his large hand, but Yachiru was already immune to that sort of threat. She stared at him with her big ruby eyes, challenging him to do it and make her cry.

He didn't, of course.

Sighing through his nostrils, the large man threw the art tool back at her.

"Go to sleep, runt."

Ignoring Kenpachi, Yachiru leaped onto his desk and from there, hopped onto his shoulder and flew to the windowsill behind him. Despite how long he had known her – practically all her godforsaken life – Kenpachi was still slightly amazed by the child's speed.

In her little stunt, she had managed to mess up the documents on his desk – much to Kenpachi's chagrin. Suppressing an annoyed snarl, he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He'd have Yumichika clean the office and finish the rest of the damn paperwork tomorrow. He didn't give a shit anymore. After having to put up with Yachiru's demands for cotton candy – her current favourite for the week – he had been hoping for a quiet evening off that would come complete with a hot bath and a hot meal. He had had his dinner, but who knew he was to be swamped with more work?

"Hey, runt," Kenpachi muttered, eyes still closed as he stretched his right arm above his head, sighing when he heard his bones pop. "How does a nice hot bath sound to ye?"

When he didn't receive an answer after a few seconds – save for several rumbles of thunder – Kenpachi looked over his shoulder and found Yachiru there, sitting on the windowsill watching as lightning flashed across the dark heavens. He observed her for a while, wondering just what was so interesting about the oncoming storm that had so easily snatched her attention. It even got her to shut up for once to the point that she didn't even bother to answer his question.

Usually, Yachiru would be squealing at the mere thought of a bath.

From her reflection on the window, Kenpachi could see that she was actually concentrating on where the lightning struck, eyes jumping every time to catch the flash before it disappeared. It annoyed him a little to not get what she did.

"Somethin' up, 'Chiru?"

Another flash, and Yachiru's eyes leaped as the lightning made a thin, crooked white line in the dark sky, appearing to strike just behind the Shinigami Academy.

"The lightning," she replied as thunder cracked a violent scream overhead and came down with an ear-splitting boom.

Yachiru wasn't the least bit bothered. Kenpachi felt a twinge of pride in the deepest corner of his heart. Most kids would already be bawling their asses off, tripping over their own feet to get to their mamas.

Leaving Yachiru to her own observations, Kenpachi rounded his desk and picked up the scattered sheets of cursed paperwork. If there was nothing else for him to do, he'd might as well arrange the documents for Yumichika to work on tomorrow. Lift some of the burden off of that vain wimp's shoulders.

"Ken-chan?"

Kenpachi had been reading a mission report that caught his eye when Yachiru called him. He decided that it was old and useless, and discarded it on the desk. "Yeah, kid?"

"Did'cha say somethin' 'bout a hot bath?"

A knowing grin lit up Kenpachi's face as he saw from Yachiru's reflection that she had finally turned her attention to him. He had thought that she hadn't been listening.

"Sure as hell did."

Yachiru swung her legs over the windowsill and faced him with a grin that mirrored his own, though wider with a much more childlike appearance.

"I want lotsa bubbles in there, Ken-chan! Lotsa lotsa pink bubbles!"

xxx

Jushiro felt the tremble deep within his very being, and he couldn't help but shudder. It seemed that he had spent ages in that small, dark kitchen, frozen to the seat as he stared into a pair of eyes which he didn't recognize at all. And the thing that shocked him out of his senses was the fact that those eyes belonged to the very person whom he had known for so long. For years.

Izumi stared back at him with a wide grin streaked with malice and brown irises as wild as an animal's.

Harsh wind began beating against the window panes as the heavens above split open and issued forth a heavy downpour.

Swallowing a lump that had long lodged itself in his throat, Jushiro sat up straighter in the chair but, much to his own sudden panic, that did nothing to boost his confidence. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words were cut off by Izumi's quick withdrawal before they could even make their way past his lips.

Jushiro could only watch as she walked backwards towards the door of the kitchen, eyes never leaving his, feral grin never wavering. A moment later she disappeared into the enveloping darkness of the living room, and Jushiro was left to nurse his heart that was beating frantically against the walls of his chest, threatening to burst right through flesh and bone.

_Calm down, Jushiro. _

His frenzied pulse eventually slowed with several breathing exercises that Unohana had told him to do whenever he was attacked by a coughing fit that left him breathless. _Inhale...exhale... _Make it deep, make it count.

At that moment, Jushiro felt a sudden spike of spiritual pressure that poured into the kitchen from no where but the living room. It was a pressure pattern that seemed familiar to him...but at the same time it was all the more foreign.

Was there someone other than the two of them in the apartment?

Jushiro rose to his feet, trying hard to ignore his pulse that had started yet another race around his heart, and made for the door. There, in the pitch blackness of the living room, he could feel the waves of strange spiritual pressure washing over him. It prickled the surface of his skin, and he felt the short hairs on his arms stand on end below the sleeves.

The strength alone was enough to make the knees of a shinigami, with lower than average spiritual pressure, shake uncontrollably, and the man to sweat a river. But Ukitake Jushiro was a captain, and he had been for as long as he could remember. His own immense spiritual pressure blocked it out and kept it at a safe distance from him.

But he still felt it nonetheless, and he could easily deduce that this was not the pattern of a normal spiritual pressure.

The window panes flew open, swinging violently on their rickety hinges and slamming back against the wall several times. Jushiro was not one to be easily taken by surprise, but the sudden noise shattering the murky glass of silence caused him to flinch. Cold wind howled in his ears and seeped through the sleeves of his haori into his skin.

Lightning flashed outside the window, an angry, jagged line of blinding white light that tore the black sky open and illuminated the dark room.

It was then that Jushiro saw Izumi, standing in the middle of the room, and the object in her hand. He squinted through the dazzling flash of light, and froze when he recognized what it was.

Izumi raised her zanpakuto and pointed its blade out the window at the same time a roar of thunder rocked the walls of the Seireitei.

"Hear that, Ukitake?"

Jushiro started at his name. The room faded into darkness once again, but at the very least he knew where Izumi was. But it was uncommon for her to call him by his family name, and that caused him a great deal of unease.

As she turned around slowly, taking her time as she lowered her right arm, Jushiro didn't dare speak for fear of triggering unwanted attention. He didn't know what he should do in this sort of situation, for he had never experienced it before, so the best course of action – as Yamamoto had told him years earlier – was to keep his mouth shut.

Her eyes met his, and Jushiro was now certain that this...was not who he had been talking to just minutes before. Izumi's eyes were cold, distant and reflected the soul of a stranger.

_No...impossible..._

"Izumi." Jushiro's voice only came out as a whisper filled with barely suppressed anxiety. He gripped his fists, mutely telling himself to clear his own mind of jumbled thoughts, and stood his ground when another flash of lightning appeared. Izumi's face came into view, and that feral grin had only grown wider, near to being stretched from ear to ear. A crack of thunder followed instantaneously as Jushiro swallowed another lump that had formed in his throat.

"Izumi," he said, louder this time as he willed himself to take a step forward, "what's the matter, Izumi?"

A chuckle left her lips, sardonic and deceitful.

"'What's the matter,' you ask?" She raised her zanpakuto, and Jushiro was sure that another strike of lightning was about to come. She opened her mouth and placed the blade of the zanpakuto on her tongue. With a little pressure, she slid it along the wet mass of muscle, squeezing out beads of blood that trailed down the length of the katana.

As Jushiro had predicted, lightning flashed, bringing the sickening sight to life with blinding white light that left the substances in his stomach roiling with the thunder's bellow.

Just when he was about to approach Izumi, to stop her from continuing such a grisly act, Jushiro felt a surge of irritation charging up his throat and doubled over with a heavy fit of coughing.

Izumi drew near, and he took a few steps backwards, hand reaching out to grasp the wall behind him for support.

"Nice spiritual pressure," she murmured, blood trickling down the side of her mouth. "Fuckin' surprisin' to see it comin' from a half-assed bastard like you, Ukitake. Or should I say..." She grasped his hair, twisted it in a tight hold and pulled his head up, forcing him to look straight into her eyes. "_Captain _Ukitake."

There was a murderous intent in her aura, like a snake that threatened to lash out any time if it were provoked. And, for the first time in a long time, Jushiro was afraid. As he coughed heavily into his sleeve, he couldn't take his eyes away from hers. He wanted to, but he just couldn't find it in himself to do so. An unknown force bound him, imprisoned him. A force that he could only feel but not see.

Jushiro was afraid…because he didn't understand what was happening around him.

A wicked grin crossed Izumi's face, as if she could read his very thoughts and was rejoicing at his lack of knowledge. "Only gods know how the hell you were chosen as a captain. Well...the shit gods, anyway."

She twisted Jushiro's hair even tighter, causing his coughs to double in frequency and pain, one hack upon another, until he no longer had the strength to look up at her. He was in desperate need of water for he felt his throat tearing up with each cough he choked out, but Izumi's hold on him didn't, not even the slightest bit, falter.

"Look at you." She lifted his head higher, and he could feel the white strands of his hair being torn from his scalp. He fought back a cry of pain and instead choked on his own coughs. "Weak. You're _weak_. How the _fuck_ can someone like _you_ become a captain?"

Izumi shook him, and then it suddenly dawned on him that her strength had somehow doubled to have carried his body by his head so easily like this. With a jerk, she pulled his head towards her and then, effortlessly going against the direction of momentum, slammed it to the floor. Pain shot through the left side of Jushiro's face as she pressed down, seemingly intent on driving his face right through the now cracked floorboards.

"Oh, I think I know why," she hissed, and Jushiro was quite certain that the grin had vanished from her expression. "That old fuck-faced shithead made you captain, didn't he? He was your teacher, wasn't he? _That's _how you became a captain in spite of that fuckin' pathetic illness of yours. And you call yourselves shinigami who fight for justice."

She lifted his head just a few inches so that it was level with hers. Jushiro was able to lick the blood from his ripped bottom lip before she smashed his head to the floor again.

"Fuck that! Y'all ain't nothin' but some half-assed wimps who rely on their zanpakuto to fight. Your zanpakuto gives you strength, lets you fight and defend whatever the hell it is you're defendin', but what d'you do to appreciate it? Nothin'! You think you know all 'bout your fuckin' zanpakuto spirits when in fuckin' fact you don't know shit!" She lifted his head and, despite Jushiro's weak prayer for deliverance between his hacking fit, sent his head colliding with the hard wood below once again. "You don't know fuckin' shit! Without your zanpakuto, you're nothin'!"

A crack of thunder shook the whole apartment, as if justifying Izumi's words. Jushiro didn't understand – _couldn't _understand what she was going on about. Partially because he was too preoccupied with his illness's ambush, but also because he had never, in the many long years that he had known Izumi, heard her say such things about the shinigami. About the great Captain-Commander Yamamoto, his teacher and the strongest shinigami in Soul Society, head of the First Division.

What Izumi was saying…was blasphemy in its purest form.

Jushiro felt his head being lifted up once more, and this time he braced his hands on the floor so that he could at least hold back a bit of the force when his head came crashing down.

But it never did.

Seemingly bored with the act, Izumi let his head go and stepped over his body. She reclaimed her former spot in the middle of the room and gazed out the open window as if in a trance. Jushiro pulled himself up to a sitting position and leaned against the wall, eyes fixated on her as he dealt with his coughing fit.

Then, before he could even let out a shout of warning, Izumi dashed across the room and leaped out of the window into the heavy downpour.

_What in the Seireitei's name...?_

Scrambling to his feet, Jushiro rushed to the window and searched for her, but it was impossible to see through the thick mist of rain. He felt something warm and wet trickling down the side of his face as a piercing pain shot through his left temple. With a trembling hand, he reached up, touched the warm liquid, and wasn't at all surprised to see the bloodstains on his fingers.

What Jushiro was surprised – no, _shocked,_ as to _why _he had received those wounds in the first place. Izumi…was the last person on his list who would hurt him physically. As far as he knew her – and he was absolutely certain that he knew her pretty well – she was only capable of spilling forth a range of colourful words and phrases. Nothing more. An example of a barking dog that doesn't quite wish to bite.

Something was definitely out of place.

Jushiro's thoughts were interrupted by yet another hacking fit. It tore through his throat and came out dry and painful. He stumbled through the dark room, almost contemplating going into the kitchen to slurp down some herbal soup, towards the front door. He opened it, and came face to face with Izumi's sadistic eyes.

"What the hell are you doin' up?" And with that, she punched him in the right cheek and kicked him in the stomach. That wasn't enough to bring him down, though. With an uncharacteristic snarl, she rammed her own head into his abdomen, full force. Jushiro choked on his own cry and was sent crashing to the floor.

The captain struggled to get up. "I-Izumi...what are you doing?"

The only reply he got was a swift kick to the jaw that twisted him around a half circle. He fell flat on his face with a groan of agony, and then he felt her bare foot on his back, pining him to the floor.

"And for fuck's sake, stay _down_! I'd hate to have to kick you again." She laughed suddenly, prodding the square of his back with her heel. "But then again, it'd be a hell of a lot more fun if you kept gettin' up again."

Jushiro found himself disgusted by that laugh of sadism, of brutality. He felt like taking Izumi by her shoulders and shaking her hard, or maybe even slapping her around if that was what it took to snap her back to her senses. He wasn't the violent type, but if that was what it took, then he would go for it without much hesitation.

He felt her foot leave his back and heard the fading footsteps as she walked away from him. Bracing his hands on the floor, he pushed himself up. When he was on his knees, his right arm rushed to his mouth and he hacked into his sleeve. His other hand leaned against the wall for support.

All sorts of thoughts ran through Jushiro's head. Questions that he couldn't find the answers to. Questions that he couldn't even understand. Questions that he _didn't want_ to understand. All of them dashed around and around in his mind, crashing into each other with massive collisions that pushed his mentality to its limits.

_What's happening to Izumi? How did she get so strong? Whose spiritual pressure is that?_

Jushiro felt like he was rocketing past the boundaries of sanity.

A flash of white light blinded him.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a black form collapse in the rain, and the mad laughter he had been hearing all this while was drowned out by the rolling thunder.

* * *

**Beta-read by: **Laerkstrein


	8. Whisper of Prophecy

**A/N: **I'd like to express my gratitude to a wonderful reader of mine, **Dreadful Virtue/Airtos**, for her constant reviews and incessant support.

_

* * *

_

_Jushiro felt like he was rocketing past the boundaries of sanity. _

_A flash of white light blinded him. _

_Out of the corner of his eye he saw a black form collapse in the rain, and the mad laughter he had been hearing all this while was drowned out by the rolling thunder._

Chapter 8: Whisper of Prophecy

"Will ye sit still, ye lil' brat?" Zaraki Kenpachi snapped as he tried in vain to keep his little runt's fingers from his hair. With her glistening wet skin, she slid easily out of his grasp and reached out to poke the bridge of his hooked nose, eliciting a growl from the already annoyed captain.

He had let down the spikes, as per usual whenever the day was done, and as always Yachiru was being difficult by trying to wash his hair while he washed hers.

But he was intent on not having anything to do with those Yumichika-branded shampoos. The thought of them inevitably led him to think about one certain captain of the Twelfth Division. Kenpachi mumbled a curse as the unfortunate incident between Kurotsuchi's "specially" formulated shampoo and his hair played out in his mind.

He remembered going around looking like a gay stripper at a bar with a head of silky smooth mane. Yumichika had been glowing with pride at "how beautiful" his captain looked, but had been quick to disappear out of sight before Kenpachi could slice the pretty-boy's head right off his shoulders. Ikkaku and the rest of the division members had been smart enough – which was rather surprising since they were known not to have much tact – to avoid him for the rest of the day for fear of accidentally bursting out with mirth that could easily be the end of them.

Kenpachi had immediately switched back to soap and – much to Yumichika's dismay – had sprayed the mad scientist's cursed concoction all over the barracks walls with the help of his little lieutenant. After Yachiru had had her fun, his Fifth Seat retired to moaning over the loss of a "wonderful bottle of miracle shampoo" while Aramaki and his underlings mopped and scrubbed the barracks till it was squeaky clean. They knew better than to leave so much as a minute stain.

Unknown to anyone other than his division members, Kenpachi was actually quite strict about hygiene. He might look like a thug who could care less, and it was true that he originated from the filthy streets of the Rukon's lower districts, but hygiene was one of the few things that had been instilled in him since his younger days in the, believe it or not, 80th District.

"_Ya_chiru!" Kenpachi growled, trying to pin the brat's arms down without much success. It was hard to believe that her namesake had been a particular one about hygiene, and that she was the one from whom he had learned how to clean himself more thoroughly than he used to.

The brat could just roll around in the mud on a rainy day and come back indoors, covered head to toe in it and most likely something much more worse judging from the smell, with a bright grin at him and naught a care in the world for her soiled clothes.

Yachiru cupped some water in her small hands and splashed him in the face, instantly snapping him out of his thoughts and back to the bathroom.

Really, the two of them were very much the opposite in terms of cleanliness.

Suppressing an irritated snarl, Kenpachi wiped the now cold water and pink bubbles from his eyes and glared down at the child. She took no notice and continued to giggle at him. Even if she did comprehend his warning glare, there was nothing that she'd bother on doing. Reflecting Kenpachi's familiarity with her antics, Yachiru was quite accustomed to his threats. They were empty threats that held no danger whatsoever for her.

But when it came to other people, it was a different story altogether.

"Quit it, Yachiru. Ye're givin' me a goddamn headache, ye know that?" Kenpachi growled, slapping her hand away – gently, of course – before it could catch hold of his hair.

"Aww, Ken-chan's Mister Grumpy today!" Yachiru laughed, splashing around in the tub.

"Me? Grumpy? Che!" With a grin of mischief inherited from the very child herself and an unwavering intent on proving her wrong, he plunged his hands underwater and proceeded to tickle her sides. Yachiru doubled over in surprise, laughing as she tried in vain to pry Kenpachi's fingers off her.

"S-st-stop it, K-Ken-chan!" Yachiru managed between bursts of laughter, splashing pink bubbles at him as if that could really ward him away. Kenpachi didn't mind being splashed at as long as it made Yachiru happy. It was hard for him to refrain from laughing along, but when a boom of thunder suddenly rocked the barracks, causing her head to jerk back and hit the tap with a loud _thunk_, he stopped altogether, effectively ending their little mirth.

He immediately took her head in his hands, effortlessly dwarfing it, as she let out a cry of pain. "Y'all right, runt?"

She tried to wriggle away from his prodding fingers, but his hands were firm and wrapped securely around her little pink head.

"Ow! That hurts, Ken-chan!" Yachiru pulled away but, with a warning growl, Kenpachi tucked her head to his chest and began rubbing the injured spot. He sure as hell didn't want a bump to form. That would need some ointment, and there was no way in hell was he going near that smelly shit. Asking Yumichika or Ikkaku to help him with it was also far from his line of plans. He wouldn't trust them with the child even if they were his top seated officers.

But, coming to think of it, Yumichika could be taken into consideration – as long as he didn't take advantage and decorate the runt with ridiculous accessories and superfluous shihakusho add-ons while Kenpachi wasn't looking. Ikkaku was a downright no. The first time Kenpachi had handed Yachiru over to him, the man had lost sight of her in no more than five seconds.

Conclusively, he was _not _going anywhere near that medicinal shit. Kenpachi wasn't one for medical attention, be it a simple applying of ointment to a bruise or a major surgery conducted by Captain Unohana herself. Sure, after any tough battle he would have to dress his wounds, but he did it just for the hell of keeping the Fourth Division pansies from digging up his ass. As if that wasn't enough, he had to deal with his own division's nosy members – Yumichika in particular.

If that man knew about Yachiru's little lump, boy would there be much of a fuss.

That was one of the reasons why Kenpachi was rubbing the brat's head so vigorously, carelessly messing up her pink strands in the process, until she flailed her hands in the air, shouting for him to stop.

"Ken-chan, I'm all right! Don't rub so hard; it hurts!"

At that, Kenpachi immediately let go, barely dodging a palm that flew right past his nose. As he watched Yachiru pat the back of her head, inspecting the lump, Kenpachi could see why Yumichika couldn't keep his hands to himself. Yachiru was...well, everything Yachiru was supposed to be. Loud, annoying, horrendously hyperactive, an obnoxious itch in everyone's ass...

And yet, there he was giving the runt a bath despite all her antics that _should_ have been the cause of her tragic end a long, long time ago.

Sighing, Kenpachi combed her tousled hair back and out of her face with his fingers, an affectionate gesture that he knew Yachiru liked.

"That's what ye get when ye don't sit still, brat," he muttered, masking his slight worry with a twinge of amusement. That bump shouldn't be able to cause a fatal head concussion, and Kenpachi's innate instincts were to be blamed for the small pang of anxiety that nibbled at the very back of his mind. He was all too aware that he should be accustomed to Yachiru getting hurt in the midst of her mischief-making, but he obviously wasn't and there was nothing he could do about it.

Yachiru responded to his tease with a pout. It made him burst out with a light chuckle that only caused her eyes to narrow in childish suspicion.

"What'cha laughin' at, Mister Grumpy Ken-chan?" she demanded, poking him in the middle of his bare chest.

"Nothin'." He feigned an innocent grin that was displayed as much more feral than it was supposed to be, reaching over to grab Yachiru's pink, bell-shaped sponge from the edge of the tub where it sat beside the faucet.

As he did so, his face came close to hers, and she sneezed right in it. Whether it was on purpose or not, Kenpachi didn't really care as he wiped the spit from the side of his mouth with a barely suppressed snarl.

Yachiru continued to stare up at him with wide, innocent ruby eyes. "What's up, Ken-chan?"

The man commanded himself to breathe steadily. Each breath he slowly exhaled through his nostrils ruffled Yachiru's loose, wet strands, and with it went the annoyance that had welled up within his chest, threatening to implode anytime soon.

It was a wonder how Yachiru could manage to piss him off in such a short period of time with something as trivial as a bath, and it was even more miraculous that Kenpachi hadn't chopped her head off yet.

Clutching the pink sponge that so resembled the bells he attached to his hair, Kenpachi fixated his eyes on Yachiru.

"I want ye t'shut up, sit still and keep yer hands to yerself," he growled through gritted teeth. "Do that and we'll get through this nice and easy, hear me brat?"

Yachiru beamed and nodded. "I hear ya, Ken-chan!"

With a gruff scoff, Kenpachi leaned down to scrub Yachiru's neck, only to be met with a handful of cold water and pink bubbles in his eyes, nose and mouth, as well as a familiar fit of high-pitched giggles in his ears.

xxx

Chills ran through Ukitake Jushiro's body, prickling the soles of his feet and rushing up to his brain, as he stood there in silence, staring wide-eyed into the darkness of the stormy night. He could still hear the mad laughter as it rang in his ears, ever persistent without a promise of ceasing. There was no sanity left in that laugh. Not a single trace of humanity could Jushiro find in that voice. No matter how much he wanted to clasp his hands over his ears to block it out, he just couldn't. His arms felt no better than a couple blocks of lead, heavy and dangling at his sides, useless.

Jushiro's thoughts, intent on driving him mad, were shattered when he doubled over with a painful coughing fit. It had been days since he had last had a dose of herbal soup, and the little amount that he'd had a while before was undoubtedly not enough to quench his illness. And he knew who to blame for it – though he never allowed his conscience to stray that far.

Straightening up with a coppery taste in his mouth, Jushiro willed his legs to move. They were as heavy as his arms – probably even worse – but he managed to get them to obey him. It took much willpower to move, and he took step by trembling step until finally, after what felt like hours, he reached the opened door.

The storm didn't seem to show any signs of stopping. Rain poured heavily down, beating the streets of the Seireitei without mercy, as lightning flashed across the heavens accompanied by its faithful companion of ear-splitting screams. Jushiro was buffeted by the icy rain as he stood in the doorway. It seeped into his skin, cold and bitter as the very heart of winter.

A shot of pain pierced through the side of his face, but he was numb to it. Warmth gathered on his left cheekbone and slithered down his face, heating his skin through the cold. He didn't need to check to know that it was fresh blood.

With a pounding heart, Jushiro stepped out from the shade and into the storm. He had to shut his eyes to avoid rain from beating into them, but with a hand he shielded them and continued to brave the wild tempest. Something sharp, like a little jagged stone, fell upon the back of his hand and he experienced the pain akin to the one just seconds before. But fortunately, the slight cut didn't trigger any blood.

Jushiro resisted the urge to look up to confirm his assumption of the start of a hailstorm. Several more icy stones plummeted down upon him, solidifying his thoughts, a few causing cuts big and deep enough to ooze out warm, red fluids while others merely left minor bruises.

But it needed something much, much worse than that to deter him from reaching his goal.

Jushiro shut his eyes at a flash of lightning, biting his bottom lip as the ground beneath his feet trembled with the roaring thunder. It was to be deemed ridiculous to see a captain such as him fear the storm. The Captain-Commander and Shunsui, especially, would question him incessantly about how on earth could he fear the storm when it was his absolute element.

How on earth indeed.

xxx

Kenpachi stepped out of the steam-filled bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist and another smaller one – specifically, Yachiru's pink bath towel – draped over his hair. A hot bath was really what he had needed after a long, boring day at the office. "Ken-chan and 'Chiru's relaxation time," Yachiru called it, and he had to laugh at such an...unoriginal title.

Raising his arms above his head, Kenpachi stretched, sighing contentedly at the cracks of protest his joints made. His tight, stressed muscles loosened as he flexed them, and he couldn't help but wish that his division members would build up some brawn. They all looked like skinny, weak old geezers and the new recruits were merely kids fresh out of their teenaged years. They would last no longer than ten seconds on the battlefield. That woman Yachiru had slapped around would, Kenpachi was absolutely sure, last no more than three.

Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of a familiar bob of pink and stopped short. Speak of the devil.

"Ain't ye s'posed t'be asleep, brat?" he barked, mentally praying that Yachiru wasn't in the mood for bedtime stories tonight. The chances for his hopes to be realized were slim. The runt didn't want to hear stories only during nights where she was either too sleepy or there were too many things on her mind.

Seeing as the brat was always so high on sugar – thanks to that sick, white-haired fool of a captain – Kenpachi wouldn't bet on drowsiness. Hell, there was no reason for her to be. All she did every day was cling to his back for transportand annoy him with her endless, nonsensical chatters. Surely that didn't require much effort, did it?

But that was out of the question.

Yachiru sat on the windowsill, its narrow surface easily accommodating her small frame, and was gazing out the pane, bright eyes lost in the darkness of night. She wasn't making a sound. She wasn't even moving save for the occasional blinking. A vision of the office flashed through Kenpachi's mind, reminding him of not too long ago when she was in that same position by the window. If he had thought that that seemed strange, this was all the more puzzling.

Making up his mind, Kenpachi leaned against the wall right behind her and watched, arms folded across his chest. Watch to learn just what it was she was so caught up with, and partly just for fun.

A flash of lightning coloured the dark heavens with white light and came down with a jagged silver line that appeared to slice open the distant sky. Yachiru's eyes were fast to catch up with it, simply blinking when a roar of thunder sounded and caused a tremble to reverberate throughout the bedroom.

Kenpachi hadn't been fast enough for it, but he effortlessly followed the next one that plunged its blinding white edge into the earth seconds later, quicker than its predecessor. The wall behind him shook, rumbling against his shoulder blades akin to the rhythm of the thunder, but he took no notice.

What he was more concerned about was the state Yachiru was in. She appeared to be in some kind of...trance. A reverie of sorts where her eyes saw something that was no doubt entirely out of this world, for Kenpachi couldn't see anything intriguing about a mere storm.

Moreover, he still remembered the old days back in the Rukon when she was still an infant, a tiny soul hanging onto his broad shoulder. She had been scared – no, _terrified _of the storm. Whenever lightning struck, Kenpachi's ear would be driven to the edge of splitting by the child's screams. If he had been fortunate enough to find shelter for them from the rain, he'd still have his haori wet thanks to Yachiru's bawling.

Though she was no more an infant now but a full-fledged shinigami, equipped with her very own zanpakuto, with a will as steadfast as his own, Kenpachi still couldn't figure out just what was with the storm that interested her so much. And he hated the fact that he was blocked out from her inner musings.

Another flash of lightning made him look up, and the boom that followed thoroughly shattered his thoughts. In the reflection on the window pane, he could see Yachiru's eyelids drift to a close. She then tilted her head to the side and let it rest against the windowsill. A sense of peace overcame her, clearly shown on her expression, making her look like a child with hidden wisdom.

The change that took place right before his eyes threw Kenpachi over by surprise. Now he was confused. Yachiru, his obnoxious little runt and her bubbly nature, suddenly transformed into a youthful sage in the midst of a storm? Or maybe it was his mind's eye playing tricks on him.

Kenpachi settled for the latter – just because it was a much less disturbing prospect. He pushed himself off the wall and crossed the room, approaching Yachiru with a slower pace. She didn't seem to notice as he stood beside her and leaned against the windowsill. A moment of silence broken only by the thunder passed where Kenpachi's eyes roamed absently over the roofs and streets of the Seireitei before finally settling on Yachiru's face.

"Time for bed, runt," he murmured, as if afraid that his usual volume would disrupt her peace. It was either the fact that she didn't hear him or she simply chose to ignore him, but regardless, she remained motionless. Only the slight ruffling of a strand of hair in front of her face showed she was still breathing.

Just when Kenpachi was about to open his mouth and bark at her, Yachiru slowly opened her eyes. With half-lidded ruby orbs that showed that she may still be in a trance, she gazed over the Seireitei as a small smile spread her soft lips. The words that left her mouth right then made the captain blink in utter puzzlement and follow her gaze in hopes of deciphering them.

"Someone's gonna die soon, Ken-chan."

As if to enforce her words, lightning flashed and thunder roared, and Kenpachi couldn't help but feel a slight shiver running up his spine as Yachiru's sweet little smile continued to widen.

xxx

Along the wet rooftops Jushiro ran, flash-stepping to cover more ground in less time. He could sense the strange spiritual pressure up ahead, and it was getting closer and closer with each flash Jushiro took. He still couldn't comprehend just whose pressure that belonged to. It didn't belong to Izumi. He was dead certain about that. How could it? Hers was weak; weaker than the average shinigami and less than half of this unknown spiritual pressure.

Jushiro was still pondering over the possibilities when a sudden bolt of lightning struck the rooftop just a few feet ahead of him, sending shattered pieces of ceramic tiles flying in all directions. He immediately skidded to a stop and unsheathed his zanpakuto.

That was no normal lightning bolt. It struck so near, and yet he could only hear faint rumbles unlike the much louder, ear-splitting booms of natural thunder.

Jushiro stood his ground, ignoring the obvious disadvantage he was at. The heavy rain was obscuring his vision and he could see no more than twenty feet ahead of him. But then he decided that sight was not much of use since he couldn't see his quarry anyway.

_What I need..._

The spine-chilling cackle drifted through the beating of the rain and reached his ears. Pinpointing it from the left, he leaped up and somersaulted backwards just in time to dodge another lightning bolt that struck the spot where he once perched.

_...is hearing!_

Ceramic tiles exploded below him. He was about to twist his body over to land neatly on his feet when a pair of eyes, thick with murderous lust, met his. Time seemed to slow as Jushiro felt a sharp blade slash his torso, dragging from his right shoulder and down to the left side of his hip. He heard the crackle of electricity, fierce and frigid in his ears, before it faded back into the pattering of the rain and he found himself plummeting down through the air.

Splinters of ice pounded into his body, cruel and merciless as they bit down upon the fresh gash on his torso. Like buckets of salt on an open wound. It felt like a never ending fall into the depths of oblivion before Jushiro finally landed on the cold, hard ground with a loud _thud_.

"I gotcha now!" a voice screamed with twisted glee. Through the rain Jushiro could see a faint shade of vivid blue and yellow, and when the crackling sound of electricity reached his ears, he raised his zanpakuto in time to block an attack.

The clash of the two blades rang out in the night, seeming to pierce through rain and hail in their own battle of dominance. Sparks flew from overwhelming friction and the enemy's zanpakuto crackled with webs of electricity. Through the sharp blue and yellow webs, Jushiro saw what confirmed his suspicions – and fears – to be true.

Using every bit of strength left in his weakened body, Jushiro pressed upon his blade and pushed the other away. Quickly, he scrambled to his feet, ignoring the burning sensation on his chest. He pulled the torn hems of his bloody haori over the gash to cover it up. A burst of laughter made Jushiro whirl around to look for its source, but his effort was in vain.

"Enjoyin' yourself, captain?" came the mock from deep within the darkness of the night showers, tempting Jushiro's feet to move to his right. He resisted and stood his ground, contemplating over the use of his shikai. His grip tightened on the red hilt of his zanpakuto as he held it in front of him, blade at the ready. No, there was no need for shikai. Izumi was still...Izumi, wasn't she?

At that thought, a blade came hurtling right in his face out of the blue. Jushiro side-stepped, dodging it rather effortlessly given his commendable speed, but a sudden fit of coughing seized him just as Izumi fell hard to the ground.

In Jushiro's peripheral vision he could see Izumi springing to her feet with an irritated frown that only made her contorted features even more wicked than it already was.

"Fuck it. Must be gettin' rusty," she muttered, licking the blood from her ripped bottom lip as she twirled the zanpakuto in her impossibly deft hand. "It's all that damn asswipe's fault."

Jushiro tried to speak around his coughs, but choked up on his words and only made it worse. As Izumi approached, taking her time and mocking him with degrading insults, he backed away, eyes never leaving hers. Those eyes didn't show any ounce of familiarity; there was no compassion left in them, no warmth and familial affection. Nothing was left except for pure hatred and inhumanity.

"Izumi," Jushiro managed to rasp, clutching at his own throat as he tried to straighten up, "stop...stop it this instant."

The only answer that he received was a shrill cackle of contempt as she threw her head back and slid the blade of the zanpakuto across her tongue, drawing out blood. As lightning flashed and thunder rumbled overhead, Jushiro gritted his teeth and held in his coughs, unable to ignore the sudden chill that ran up his spine.

When the laughter that only belonged to the mad died down, Izumi fixed her eyes on his and stepped closer. A grin spread the corners of her mouth wide until they nearly reached her ears. Jushiro froze at the free show of sharp canine teeth, as well as the trail of blood trickling down the side of her mouth.

Izumi stopped short, but her eyes and grin were still fixated on him, never wavering even for one brief moment. Something gleamed in her irises, and he was sure that it was nothing even remotely good. She cocked her head to the side, tightening the grip on the hilt of her zanpakuto.

"Let's play, Juu-chan."

With that, she lunged forward and came down with the blade. Jushiro was fast enough to evade, side-stepping to his right, and rammed the pommel of his zanpakuto in between her shoulder blades. She was sent crashing into the wall face first. With a snarl and a bleeding nose, she retrieved the fallen blade and thrust at him. He blocked and smacked her abdomen with the back of his free hand. The delicate move was strong enough to send her stumbling backwards a few feet, dazed and confused.

"I don't want to-" Jushiro was cut off by another fit of coughing. After being forced down for too long, the illness came back with a vengeance, surging up his throat and tearing it apart from within. Pressing a bloody sleeve to his mouth, he hacked into it. Pain seared through his chest, and he was tempted to clutch at it but refrained, knowing that any contact with the wound would only make matters worse.

It was times like these that he hated being sick.

"Fuckin' heads up!" No sooner had Jushiro heard that scream a lightning bolt struck right at his feet, throwing him backwards and sending him crashing a ways to the ground. He landed flat on his face, and the pain in his chest only got worse, teetering on the brink of being unbearable. Another bolt struck the ground on his right side, its impact twisting Jushiro's tampered figure around and around until, close to coming to a stop, he felt the urgent need to vomit.

Instinctively, Jushiro tightened his grip on the hilt, but found that his zanpakuto was no more in his grasp. Head spinning, he forced himself to his hands and knees and squinted through the rain. His vision blurry, he shook his head to rid his eyes of the crippling droplets.

Before he could continue his search, the ground before him was struck with another bolt. This one wasn't as strong as the previous, and it only left burnt soil instead of the holes its predecessors made.

Jushiro was about to contemplate the apparent strangeness of it when a flash blinded him, followed by a crack and an ear-splitting boom. The quaking earth beneath him suddenly gave way to emptiness and, before he knew it, he was swallowed up by the very gaping jaws of darkness.

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**Beta-read by:** Laerkstrein


	9. State Your Name!

**A/N: **Chapters 9 and 10 are supposed to be just one chapter as a whole, but judging on how long it was, I decided to split it up for the sake of the readers' own sanity. (Even I get a little annoyed reading something nearly 9k words long in one sitting.) With that said, the ending for this chapter might come off as a little abrupt.

* * *

_Jushiro was about to contemplate the apparent strangeness of it when a flash blinded him, followed by a crack and an ear-splitting boom. The quaking earth beneath him suddenly gave way to emptiness and, before he knew it, he was swallowed up by the very gaping jaws of darkness._

Chapter 9: State Your Name!

The midday sun hung high and mighty in the cloudless blue sky, bathing the streets and buildings of the Seireitei with a warm, generous light. Many a shinigami were complaining about the scorching heat, so it was quite a wonder how a fellow comrade of theirs managed to awaken with a sneeze while drenched in cold sweat.

After a second sneeze that sent her toppling over the edge of the bed and on to the hard floor, Izumi was a little more than halfway out of slumber. She curled up in a tight ball, twisting the quilt around and under her, and tried hard to block out the solidity of the floor that dug persistently into her side.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Izumi rose groggily to her feet. The cold floor burned her soles, shooting freezing shock waves up through her body. She only managed to take a step or two before tripping and falling flat on her face. Pain shot through her nose and mouth, excruciating, causing her to choke on her own blood.

_Blood...?_

Warm, thick liquid filled her mouth from an unknown source. Panic rising fast within her, Izumi parted her teeth slightly, letting the fluid trickle down the sides of her mouth. Going against her own will, she raised a trembling hand and stuck an index finger into her mouth. Upon the slightest prod, her tongue seemed to have split apart, torn from the inside out. Instinctively, she bit down on her forearm, squeezing flesh between teeth to numb out the pain. Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes as double agony sent heated needles through nerves, but that only made her sink her teeth further into her own flesh. She wasn't sure whether the blood that gathered in her mouth was more from her tongue or her skin.

Izumi's brain could only scream at her to stop, and, when she finally gave in, she found deep teeth marks in her forearm. Beads of blood oozed from the small puncture wounds, but that wasn't what stole her attention. More blood dripped from her chin, leaving glistening splotches on the floor.

"What the...?" The piercing ache in her tongue cut her off short. She squeezed her eyes shut, clasping a hand over her mouth. Once the pain faded away, she climbed to her feet and rushed to the bathroom where staring at the torn mass of muscle in the mirror did nothing to quell her fears.

She stood there, eyes wide open, for several minutes as she tried to figure out just what had happened. Countless thoughts ran through her mind. Questions, without the hope of being satisfied with an answer, twisted and intermingled with one another until they finally accumulated into a jumbled mass, so incoherent, that it moved Izumi's feet backwards in a cowardly retreat from the nauseating reflection in the mirror.

Oblivious to how many steps she was taking, Izumi continued her slow withdrawal. But no matter how much she wanted to take her eyes off the blood, she couldn't. It was only when her heel hit something cold and metallic that her questions dispersed, train of thoughts interrupted. She whirled around and, seeing the object on the floor, stumbled back with a startled choke.

Lying there, sheathed in the black scabbard that would have made it go unnoticed in the darkness of the room, if not for its clay red hilt, was a zanpakuto.

Izumi slowly exhaled, thumping her chest with a hand so as to ease back her pounding heart. She bent down to pick it up and opened her mouth to speak when she remembered the torn muscle. Even swallowing caused the pain to flow anew, like a sudden blast of water bursting forth from a punctured dam.

Izumi settled on the edge of the bed, the zanpakuto resting across her lap. She drummed her fingertips on the scabbard for a while, allowing the faint prickling of spiritual pressure emanating from it to calm her nerves. Once she was sure that she could walk around on her own two legs without fear of crumpling into a heap on the floor, much thanks to her shaky knees, she left the sword on the bed and went about tidying the room. Despite the confusion, the spring in her step was unperturbed, solid proof of how deeply she had slept that night in comparison to the nights before. In no time, the housewife instincts, that had long-since been embedded within her, kicked in, giving her groggy system a much needed jump start.

The quilt was smoothed out, folded and placed upon the bed; pillows were beaten back into shape and set side by side, and the bloodstains on the wooden floor were wiped away, leaving little to no smears.

Once the bedroom was returned to its normal state, neat, tidy and satisfying, Izumi retired to a hot shower. When the faucet was turned on, a blast of icy water sent her leaping away. She slipped, and a sharp thud against the wall squeezed out a swear, bringing with it more blood from her mouth. Mentally cursing her ill luck, she braced herself and stepped under the icy shower.

So much for hot water.

She made a mental note to file a complaint to the landlady. This had happened countless of times before, despite her repeated complaints. Sometimes she thought that the landlady was just a rich old hag with nothing more than minced meat for brains.

Several minutes later, Izumi came out shivering, wrapped in nothing but a thin towel. Staying under that blasted shower a second longer would, no doubt, mean an icy death for her. She donned one of her old academy uniforms, which had seemed to shrink since the last days spent schooling, letting out a sigh of relief as the fabric warmed her. From the counter top, she fetched a roll of bandages that had been left there for easier access – having an EleventhDivision member as aspouse required bandages to be placed all around the house – and had allowed Izumi to sooner dress the puncture marks on her forearm. With that done, she grabbed the zanpakuto that lay on the bed awaiting its master and padded out into the kitchen.

A sweet, yet bitter, whiff of herbs and red beans greeted Izumi, but her confusion only doubled when she found a bowl of half-finished herbal soup on the table, and a pot still full sitting on the stove. She stood in the doorway, unable to take another step as further puzzlement settled in.

_When the hell did I...? _

She gave herself a square smack in the face, which triggered a sting worthy to rival the slap Jushiro had given her days before.

But the smell nor the sight before her didn't change one bit.

Izumi shook her head and, with an uneasy feeling weighing down upon her chest, picked up a bowl and used the ladle to scoop up some soup. Better not leave it there to waste. The ingredients weren't exactly cheap, and every last drop of soup was like a delicacy to Izumi's unrefined taste buds. Jushiro didn't know it though, for there was no need. Knowing the man, he'd only make a big fuss.

Completely aware of the constant stinging in her tongue, Izumi tried not to rush the liquid. Although her housewife instincts had already been roused again, she still had a bad penchant for being hasty and overly aggressive. A bad case that could act as the ultimate proof was when she had charged for the pink-haired child – now her lieutenant, although she still found it hard to believe – which had rewarded her with a nasty bump in the back of her head and a terrible nosebleed.

Thinking about the lieutenant brought her to realization that she was supposed to be at work cleaning the corridors and hallways of the Seireitei along with other low-ranking shinigami of the Eleventh Division.

Placing the empty bowl on the table, Izumi leaned back with a nasal sigh, making another mental note to reheat the soup and send it over to Jushiro once work was over. She knew she was late, but waking up to a couple of abnormalities could screw with one's brain until one couldn't grasp anything of importance any longer.

Izumi stood up after what felt like minutes of fighting back drowsiness. She took a glance at the soup, pushing away a feeling of nervousness and storing it in the back of her mind.

_When did I cook it? When? _

Shaking her head to rid it off questions – distractions, if you will – Izumi gripped her zanpakuto tightly for reassurance, and headed out into the late morning, unconsciously swallowing a mouthful of fresh, coppery blood.

xxx

Upon arrival at the Eleventh Division grounds, Izumi snuck in, successfully staying unnoticed by the other members. If she were to be caught running late by the Third or Fifth Seat, there was, undoubtedly, going to be hell to pay. If that childish lieutenant caught her...well, Izumi would rather go through hell and back than play another one of her stupid games.

Entering the open courtyard that served as the outdoor training ground, Izumi could hear shouted taunts and mocks that showed no shame of being thoroughly coloured with profanities.

The Third Seat – the bald man with the odd colourings at the edges of his eyes – stood in the middle of the courtyard, surrounded by other lower-ranking shinigami. Their zanpakuto were drawn and, following the insults and taunts thrown their way, they flew at their superior with blades raised high and ready, shrieking battle cries at the top of their voices. The Third Seat merely side-stepped, dodging aimless blades, blocking the slightly better ones and throwing off the balance of a handful of shinigami that managed to correctly target his middle.

All of them ended up in a large heap, moaning and groaning, while their superior remained standing, showing not even the slightest hint of exhaustion.

"That the best ye guys can do?" The Third Seat scoffed, balancing his sheathed zanpakuto that hadn't been released even for a split second throughout the assault on his shoulders. "Man, what a fuckin' drag. Y'all ain't nothin' but a bunch o' wimps. Worse than what we got last year."

Izumi wanted to make a big round around the courtyard to get to the barracks on the other side, but it was more than too late when the seated officer's eyes fell upon her.

"Hey, you!"

She stopped, fear and panic already freezing her to the spot. Now around two dozen pairs of eyes had fixated themselves on her, and she felt the heat rising to her cheeks. Crookedly, she turned around, trying not to show that she was scared shitless.

"M-m-me?"

"Yeah, the red 'n' white dumbass try'na escape trainin'. Get over here!" He gestured with his zanpakuto, and Izumi had no choice but to obey, biting her bottom lip at the insult.

She joined the ranks of the other shinigami that had surrounded him once again, positioned in their battle stance with their zanpakuto at the ready. Before she could even draw, they rushed forward with fierce screams and shrieks as if they were participating in an all-out war. Their harsh cries sent shivers down Izumi's spine, but all she could do was watch, stunned, as the men were thrown to the side one by one, landing hard on the ground with loud thuds. The bigger ones caused a slight tremor of the earth that did nothing to ease her shaky knees.

Despite not having her zanpakuto out, Izumi was still paying attention to the sparring. With that said, she couldn't understand how she hadn't realized the battle lust present in the Third Seat's eyes until his face was before her own, so close that the tips of their noses were nearly touching. The next thing she knew, her gut came spilling out of her mouth and onto the ground. Away she flew, landing with a sickening crack that seemed to split open her shoulder blades and shake her inner organs to their very core.

Unable to even move, Izumi lay sprawled out on the ground, vulnerable and semi-conscious, wondering just what in the name of shit gods just happened. Her head spun, and she could have sworn that there were potatoes that had sprouted arms and legs dancing before her eyes.

"That's what ye get when ye don't pay attention, asswipes!" the Third Seat shouted, his voice rough and stern.

But, to Izumi, it sounded like he was yelling through water. His words were incoherent. She didn't really bother to decipher them though, for she was too busy thanking the shit god who had thrown her into this mess, only to allow her to live. That god probably wanted her to suffer, and loved watching how things played out.

Somebody nudged her head, but she didn't pay any heed. A rather familiar face came into view, but her vision was so hazy that she let her eyelids drift to a close instead of taking the effort to squint. A harsh kick in the ribs sent her twisting around to lie on her side and double over, clutching the injured spot. Pain wracked her whole body as she choked, stunning her brain so much that it caused the dizziness to double.

"Get up, fool!"

Someone grabbed her by the collar and hoisted her up so carelessly that she nearly fell back down on her face. She shook her head to clear the dizziness, and rubbed her eyes till the mist of confusion was gone. Standing before her with an expression like that of a cornered rabbit in denial was none other than Aramaki Makizo, the officer under whom she served.

"You _idiot_! What in the Rukon's _name_ are you _doin'_?"

Izumi stared at him, dazed. "What?"

Aramaki raised a shaking fist, and she screwed her eyes shut and awaited the punch. But it never came.

"The hell are you doin', dumbass?" he repeated, shoving her shoulder instead. "Why are you late? This may be your second day on the job, but that ain't no excuse to be lazin' 'round at home while we stand in for you, hear me? You're lucky Madarame didn't notice, or you'd be in for it."

Absently, Izumi herself noticed that Aramaki liked saying things like "or you'd be in for it" when he didn't know what "it" actually meant. She decided to keep that to herself as she rubbed the side of her head to ease the dizziness.

"What the hell're you still standin' 'round here for? Go on into the barracks, check the roster and get on with your job, you lazy-ass fool!" Aramaki barked, though he sounded a little too...raw at giving out orders.

Nevertheless, Izumi scampered towards the barracks, avoiding eye contact with any shinigami to prevent further embarrassment – though she was pretty sure that the level of shame now imprinted on her cheeks was at its peak and couldn't go any higher no matter what else happened.

As she approached the barracks, Izumi could hear the harsh sounds of clashing zanpakuto, wrestling rather barbarically in their fierce battle for dominance. Quietly, she slipped inside and hugged the wall, padding her way to the duty roster pinned up on the notice board on the opposite end. Her eyes searched the room, sweeping back and forth and back, on the lookout for any other officers who would seize the chance to chew a new recruit's head off.

The large group of shinigami gathered at the center of the hall was carrying out more or less the same activity as Madarame was out in the training grounds. The only exception was that the superior – which, Izumi guessed, was a seated officer much lower than the Third Seat judging on the level of his spiritual pressure – was taking on a shinigami one at a time. The rest of them stood around and watched, and when their comrade was flung away, another brave soul stepped up to try his strength – only to be thrown further than the last.

Izumi kept her head down and her pace quick. She scanned through the roster and, after knowing where she was stationed, stole out of the barracks just in time to evade the officer's roaming eyes. Through the hallways and corridors she weaved, head bent, eyes to the floor, looking up every now and then just in time to avoid slamming head-on into a conveniently placed wall or column or a passing squad mate. Her head was already back to normal, nausea gone, but her back still ached from the hard fall. She wouldn't be surprised if she found the edges of her shoulder blades chipped off and jagged.

Suddenly, Izumi paused in her tracks. She took several steps backwards, coming to stop beside a door that seemed all too familiar. Out of curiosity, she opened it and was greeted with a cluttered storeroom filled with janitorial equipment and the like. This was the storage where that unseated shinigami from yesterday had gone to pick up supplies, and from which came the broom Izumi had used to sweep imaginary dust from the streets of the Seireitei. She picked up the best broom that she could find, an old one that had lost most of its "hair", and, with an irritated sigh, went off in search of her station.

The living quarters and bathroom weren't all that hard to find. Izumi could smell the stench coming from the restroom before even setting eyes on it. Pinching her nose, she braved the odour that seemed to turn the surrounding atmosphere into a sick greenish colour, crossed the large hall where bunk beds and mattresses lay strewn all over the place along with stray clothes and sandals and socks, and entered the bathroom.

To say that it was plain was an understatement. Izumi expected it to be simple with no decorations whatsoever to brighten it up. Proving her wrong, the white-tiled walls glared back at her without any sense of welcoming, proudly exhibiting pale yellow and bright red stains in all their glory. And the smell, doubtless, came from the walls themselves.

Izumi stood frozen in the doorway, taking in the sight of the artistic Eleventh Division members' handiwork, mouth hanging precariously by her jaws.

"What the hell're ye starin' at?"

Izumi whirled around at that bark, coming face-to-face with the same unseated shinigami she first encountered the day before. He stepped out from one of the toilet stalls, carrying a mop and a bucket of dirty grey water. His eyes widened to the size of saucers when they saw her.

"You!"

A grin tugged at the corners of Izumi's mouth as he marched up to her, relieved that someone actually remembered her after just one encounter. "Hey th-"

The man launched the head of the wet mop into her face, and the dirty, soapy water mixed with gods-knew-what clogged her eyes, nose and mouth. With a battle cry, he smothered her with the mop, driving her back against the wall.

"Bitch! I don't fuckin' care what the hell ye're try'na prove. It's _haemorhagegin'_, 'n' I ain't gonna say otherwise! 'N' I can't fuckin' be_lieve _ye dare leave me here t'clean up m'self. Ye stupid lazy-ass bastard, let's see how ye like this!" he cried, a sadistic grin spreading wildly across his expression, as he continued ramming the head of the mop into her face. He clearly didn't care whether he would be responsible for a new recruit's death or not. "How d'ye like _that, eh_?"

Izumi was beginning to suffocate. Breathing became harder with the increasing pressure – the foul-tasting water only made matters worse – and she did the only thing that seemed at all logical at that moment: she swung a foot between his legs.

Upon connection, his grip on the mop loosened altogether, causing him to drop it. Izumi jumped away as he crumpled to the floor, cringing at the scream of agony he elicited without reserve.

"You trying to kill me or something?" she demanded, frantically wiping the dirty mess from her face on her sleeve, cursing loudly at the stains smearing the uniform's white fabric.

"Fuckin'...bitch..." he managed to snarl between gritted teeth, cupping his nether region in both hands as if he were carrying precious water through a scorching desert.

"What was that?" Anger flaring, she stepped over to him and grasped a handful of his collar from behind. At the contact, he swung a fist around and into her jaw, sending her crashing to the wet floor with a loud cry of pain.

"How d'ye like that, eh?" he yelled, a grin of satisfaction spreading from ear to ear despite the burning sting below his navel.

With eyes squeezed shut so tightly till tears began forming at the edges, Izumi held her aching jaw. She had quickly gotten used to the sting in her tongue whenever she talked, but now it felt like the man's fist had shattered her jaw and ripped apart her tongue, creating agony so great that all she could do was crouch there, supporting herself on knees and elbows, mentally shrieking curses at him and the shit gods.

Quite a while passed where the air, dense with spiritual flares, seemed to cause the restroom walls to shrink inward.

The two shinigami knelt on the mucky floor, in puddles of water and urine, each coping with their own pain. Only their haggard breathing interrupted the heavy silence, with the man's being rougher while Izumi tried hard to hold hers in. But when she nearly choked on her own breath, she lowered her head and let herself pant. Making some noise was better than dying, anyway.

As she watched her breath cause ripples in the pale yellow puddle, Izumi thought absently that if her jaw wasn't fractured by the end of the week, she'd pay tribute to the gods that so wanted her to suffer, laughing at them in the face for successfully proving them wrong.

That is, if she managed to _survive _the week.

She felt the warmth of blood flow from her tongue and drip onto the floor, and a vision of Saito stumbling through the doorway late at night, injured, bloody, and sometimes drunk, flashed through her mind's eye. She'd fuss over him every time, but all he would do was shrug it off like being beaten up was the most usual thing in the whole of Soul Society.

Well, for an Eleventh Division recruit, it _was _the most normal thing.

Izumi could never understand it before, but now, after having gone through beatings by the lieutenant, the Third and Tenth Seats as well as an unseated shinigami who happened to be her partner for the day, she could relate to it quite well.

Enlisting in the Eleventh was really, in a way, begging for death.

In short – Izumi shook her head at her idiocy as the stench of urine finally made itself known to her stunned brain cells – it was a bad, bad idea to begin with. This was clearly no place for a petty housewife.

The first one to recover was the man, and the pressure within the room changed, raising it to a height impossible for any unseated shinigami to achieve in a second. He stood up, forcing his legs not to shake as the abused area still pulsed with a dull ache, and marched over to where Izumi was crouching.

Though his spiritual pressure burned with threats and challenges, she refused to look up at him. It wasn't that she was bowing down to him. Absolutely not. Scared? Yes, but there was no way in hell she was going to submit to someone who had the nerve to punch a woman in the face. Besides, she was still in the midst of ridiculing herself for being an idiot, for kicking the guy in the nuts in the first place. That was the essential ingredient for a death wish.

"That fuckin' _hurt_, asswipe!" he growled, planting a foot on her shoulder. "I should _kill_ ye."

Izumi grasped his foot but made no motion to remove it. Instead, she returned his glare, though not as menacingly. Hers looked too much like that of an amateur, and he couldn't help but throw his head back with a nasty, condescending laugh. The heat returned to her cheeks, but she tried her utmost best to ignore it by digging her fingernails into his socked feet. Once she caught her breath, she forced out a scoff and, ignoring the sharp sting in her troublesome tongue, said, "Wait till I clean up the washroom…then…then you can kill me."

His laughter was immediately cut off, eyes widening a little at the retort as a wave of surprise took over him at that very instant. They stared at each other, trying hard to drill into the other's soul and figure out just what the other was thinking. Sparks of electricity seemed to form between them, the beginning of an animosity between a senior and his junior.

But, despite the increasing venom within their glares, their efforts weren't as futile as they had first thought. For, after a short while of silence that seemed to pass by like a fleeting zephyr, both of them found something in the other that said more than words ever could.

It felt strange, both to Izumi and her assaulter, but that swift emotion was enough to convince them that continuing the fight wouldn't give rise to any benefits whatsoever.

After making the hard decision of whether or not to kill her right then and there, he scoffed, and removed his foot as he bent over to grab her collar. Expressing little to no effort, he hoisted her to her feet. He was a head taller than she, and Izumi, still holding her aching jaw, blinked up at him in puzzlement.

"...Thanks," she muttered as he turned his back on her and bent down to pick up the mop. She reached for it, feeling a little guilt chewing the back of her heart. "I'll… I'll do it."

He threw the mop over without much hesitation, but even after she caught it he still didn't take his eyes off her. She grimaced, clutching the mop tightly.

"What d'you want now?" She nearly wanted to spit out an unfavourable noun, but decided against it at the last second. Better to keep things the way they were than make them worse.

He rested his forearm on the hilt of his zanpakuto and leaned back against the sink, looking up at the ceiling with a seemingly aloof nature. "Murakami's woman, eh?"

Izumi pursed her lips so tightly that when she released them they were stark white, all colour drained from them. Why was it that people around here kept referring to her as "Saito's woman" or "Murakami's woman?" She had felt the irritation when Madarame first called her that yesterday during the line-up, but had stashed it away in the back of her mind to deal with during a later time. Despite how much she wanted to ignore it though, the "title" kept resurfacing now and again, causing it to become more and more blatant. Ridiculous even.

Everyone had a thread of patience, and Izumi's just snapped when the man raised an eyebrow in expectance after a few seconds of not receiving a reply from her.

"I'm not just Saito's 'woman', I'm his goddamn wife! You're making it sound like I'm his damned whore or something!" Izumi didn't care whether or not she got the tenses mixed up. She didn't give a shit about all that redundancy and, thankfully, the man didn't seem to give a rat's ass either. "Haven't you guys ever heard about something called '_names'_? Everyone has a fucking name. _I _have a name – and it's not 'Saito's woman', goddamn it!"

Another look of surprise fleeted across his otherwise nonchalant expression, and Izumi prided herself in it. But then, he turned his head to face her, dark eyes fiercely boring down into her own. And, when he spoke, his hiss made her swallow a huge lump that had suddenly lodged itself in her throat.

"What's yer name, then?"

All the confidence that had built up during the previous few seconds of her little outburst dissipated into thin air, leaving her an insignificant, defenceless housewife once again. She took a step back as his spiritual pressure flared, effortlessly dwarfing her own.

"What's yer fuckin' name, _woman_?" he all but bellowed. His voice bounced off the walls of the small toilet, rattling the metal stall doors and shaking Izumi's eardrums right down to their very core. The intensity of his tone sent a rushing wave of shock through her whole body, causing it to tremble against its own will.

Izumi nearly choked on another larger lump in her throat. She forced it down with much difficulty. Her knees started trembling again, buckling under the presence of a much larger spiritual pressure, and her feet wanted so much to turn on their heels and run out the door at that very instant, but she held her ground. She forced herself to. If she couldn't face such a... _petty_ challenge, how could she seek out revenge? If she couldn't hold her own against an unseated shinigami, there was no way in the name of the Seireitei could she face Saito. Not now, not ever.

Gripping her fists so tightly that her knuckles turned bone white, she took a step forward. She held the mop by her side while the other hand came to rest on the base of her zanpakuto's hilt. The prickling sensation sent shivers up her spine, mutely sending her a challenge akin to the one it gave before, when she ran her fingers along its blade for the first time within ages.

And, like before, she accepted it.

A nasty little voice crawled out of the darkness and whispered sinister tricks into her ear, mocking, taunting and degrading, but she resisted. For better or for worse, she still accepted it. There was no way was she going to back down now, not when she had come this far.

"I'm..." _Stop shaking, damn it! _"I'm…Murakami Izumi!" _There you go! _She raised the mop and pointed the head at him, almost hearing the echo of her late husband's proud laughter in her ears, lending her his strength and telling her…_ordering _her not to submit. No, she hadn't come this far just to back down. If this man wanted her to give up and go home, he could keep on dreaming, because there was no goddamn way was she going to run off like a dog with its tail between its skinny, frail legs.

The man stared at her for a moment longer. Then, as if satisfied that she finally found herself, he pushed off from the sink and stood facing her. His left hand rested on his zanpakuto, much like Izumi's, and they appeared to be like mirror images of each other, except for the question of gender. Not meeting her eyes, he prodded the inside of his cheek with his tongue, as if in thought. When she was about to lose her patience and snap at him again, he, much to her confusion, broke out with laughter. It wasn't the mean laughter like moments before, but a more…hearty one instead.

Izumi gritted her teeth, feeling like a fool. "The hell are you laughing at? Who the hell are you?"

His laughter bounced from the walls and flew back at her, and she felt it entering her very body; rumbling through her like a little earthquake. She swallowed, but couldn't deny the tiny part in the darkest corner of her heart that wanted to just join in and laugh along.

When he had calmed down, he allowed himself a grin which showed yellowing teeth and a missing canine, thumbing his nose in a rather playful way.

"Name's Nakanishi Sogen." Faking arrogance with a scoff, he raised a hand and nudged the mop, which hung mere inches away from his face, to the side. "'N' I'm yer damned senior so don't go stickin' mop heads in m'face, kid."

Izumi pursed her lips, wary of the change in his nature, then said hesitantly, "Or correcting your 'haemorrhagegin' thing?"

Surprisingly, Sogen didn't explode with fury at the sound of his mistake being shot back at him yet again, but he didn't really take it that leniently either. His grin vanished, replaced with a yellow grimace, as he jabbed the tip of his index finger into the centre of her forehead roughly enough to make her stumble a few feet backwards.

"Ye do whatever ye want kid, but don't come anywhere near m'haemorrhagegin', 'derstand?" He flung the bucket at her, and when she caught it, the dirty water sloshed over the sides and stained her uniform. "This ain't time t'be playin' games. Get to work, ye hear me?"

With a mop in one hand and a bucket in the other, Izumi obeyed her senior's orders, returning the shove he gave her in the back with a simple nod, but the both of them knew that those minor gestures, however insignificant and overlooked, could possibly symbolize the beginning of a lasting camaraderie.

And as they temporarily parted ways, Sogen to start on the bathroom and Izumi to complete the toilet, a faint feeling of warmth pooled at the bottom of their guts as they recalled the childish scuffle earlier on, unbelievably brought about by something as trivial as a mispronounced word.

As Izumi turned to look at the bloodstained mirror, a red bucket with a broken handle flew right past her nose and crashed into the far wall, followed by a loud and indecent curse from the doorway.

"Wipe that goddamn smile off'a yer face, ye lil' shit!"

* * *

**Beta-read by: **Laerkstrein


	10. Punishment

**A/N: **As stated in the previous chapter, chapters 9 and 10 are supposedly just one installment altogether, but considering its length, it was split up into two for the sake of the readers.

* * *

"_Wipe that goddamn smile off'a yer face, ye lil' shit!"_

Chapter 10: Punishment

Night had descended upon Soul Society, and the public was hastily going about the last of their duties for the day, wanting nothing more than to return home and lay in their warm beds and dread the coming of another new sun. Some went home with anticipation, like those new students of the Shinigami Academy. But as for the full-fledged shinigami, they trudged back to the living quarters of their respectful division barracks with heavy hearts, cursing hollows, training, chores and paperwork.

Especially the recruits of the Eleventh Division.

One such example was a certain brunette who came stumbling out into the training grounds, wearing a once unblemished white-and-red uniform that had been stained silly with dark brown and yellow smears among red dots and splotches, looking all the worse for wear.

"Hey, kid." Someone grabbed the back of her collar, jerking her backwards. "Time for dinner. Where the hell're ye goin'?"

"Home," she replied, too exhausted to even turn around and face the man.

She didn't know cleaning the bathroom and living quarters would be _that _much work. Usually, she only needed to tidy up her own little apartment, as Saito had been tactful enough not to leave things laying around. And, as such, she was very much unused to the sight of urine-and-blood-smeared walls, which made her feel like she just had to complain. But Izumi knew better than to complain aloud. She didn't want people to think that she couldn't handle it. That she was…what did they call it? A pansy? Whatever the term was, she definitely didn't want to walk around with it printed across her forehead.

The injury she had sustained in the little fighting competition with Madarame had, more or less, healed. She had thought that her shoulder blades would be broken, or at least splintered, but they were both intact. Well, at least they _felt _okay. The pain in her jaw had faded soon after the scuffle she'd had with Sogen, and thankfully, the damage done was nothing serious. It was just a matter of pain. Her tongue was behaving itself as well, admitting only a few sharp stings whenever she talked. No blood, which was good. What the hell was she supposed to say if Sogen – or the other more unfamiliar guys – questioned her about it? Lying was obviously being considered, but since Jushiro had said her lying skills were worse than downright lousy, she didn't even want to make a move to try it.

Speaking of Jushiro, Izumi quickly straightened up, but the pain that struck her in the back of her neck squeezed out an ugly choke. Damn those Eleventh Division artists for spraying their nonsense onto the ceiling. She had been forced to tip her head back for more than three hours, non-stop, trying to scrub out the obscenities painted across the bathroom ceiling.

Sogen laughed, releasing her collar, and gave her a hard thump on the back, oblivious to how much that gesture made her want to vomit out whatever raw crap she had eaten for lunch. "Ye go on home and get some good rest. Bet yer mama's waitin' for ye t'come back, ain't she?"

Izumi couldn't help but growl. "I need to go over to Captain Ukitake's division to deliver some…something. That's all." There was no such thing as "mama" waiting for her to come home.

"Ukitake?" Sogen scratched the stubble on his chin in thought. "Too bad he ain't gonna be there t'see ye. Those two Third Seats o' his are gonna take care o' things while he's gone."

Izumi didn't bother correcting the title given to Kiyone and Sentaro. They were actually _acting _lieutenants, not _qualified _lieutenants so, technically, Sogen was right. But what caught her attention hadn't anything to do with either of them.

"'Gone'?" She stepped closer to him, looking up into his dark eyes for any sign of deceit. "What d'you mean 'gone'?"

"Oh, ye dunno?" He smirked, jabbing her in the forehead. "That's what ye get for bein' a lazy-ass. Yumi's our lil' so-called 'spy,' 'n' he keeps us up with whatever the shit's happenin' out there. Whether that madman Kurotsuchi's killed any o' his officers yet, or whether that sissy best friend o' Ukitake's gotten into his lieutenant's hakama – Yumi's got everythin' ye need t'know-" Sogen paused, seeing the blurry look on his junior's face.

"Who's Yumi?"

That single question made Sogen slap her hard across the head. "Ye dunno who Yumi is? Goddamn it, woman, ye can't be serious! He's that gay friend o' Madarame's. The one with all those feathers and make-up shit. Ye know 'em, don't ye? The Fifth Se – there he is!"

Izumi spun around only to be greeted by the said Fifth Seat who was glaring at her through squinting eyes, his face sporting a _very _irritated expression. She could swear on pain of death that there was the visible outline of a vein throbbing in his right temple, just above his feathers, threatening to burst at any moment.

"Just _what _is that _awful _smell?" he demanded, looking from Izumi to Sogen and back. The two unseated shinigami, who had fallen silent, exchanged looks before Sogen shoved her forwards. Yumichika took a few steps back so quickly that it appeared the ground had heated up beneath his feet. "Ugh, how _disgraceful_. You were Murakami's wife, weren't you?"

Izumi bit her bottom lip. There it was again. That godforsaken title. And the fact that he let the past tense roll off his tongue just like that, like it wasn't anything important, turned her anger to a boil. If this… Fifth Seat's spiritual pressure hadn't been so strong, Izumi would have launched herself at him and strangled the living daylights out of the man's pretty-as-fuck face before anyone could even think of stopping her.

"I heard from Aramaki that you reported late for duty today." He ran his fingers gently through his hair, smoothing the silky strands down on both sides, paying more attention to his complexion than to his inferiors. "Is that true?"

_Aramaki… Damn that Tenth Seat... What an ass! _Izumi could only hold in a curse. She shrugged, breaking out into a nervous sweat.

"You know…" Yumichika closed his eyes as he flicked a stray lock of hair away from his face. "The captain doesn't tolerate latecomers. In fact, he hates them. We have an unspoken rule here, and it states that those who report late for duty are to be punished, one way or another. But, since this is just your second day…" Tilting his head to the side, he scanned his nails as Izumi waited in apprehension until he was done. "You'll just have to settle with cleaning the indoor training hall. I want it to be squeaky clean, without even the tiniest speck of dust or a dot of blood. Is that clear?"

Without waiting for a reply, Ayasegawa sashayed away with a flick of his purple head, and once he was out of earshot, Izumi burst out with a scoff.

"Cleaning the indoor training hall?" She glared at the Fifth Seat's back. "Is that supposed to make me cower in fear? Because it isn't working one bit."

Sogen had a sly smirk plastered to his face. "Ye sure?" He grabbed her by the collar and pulled her towards the barracks. No longer did the room ring with sounds of clashing zanpakuto, as the recruits had probably left to catch some dinner, but the sight and smell that greeted Izumi when the double-doors were flung open threw her right off balance.

The walls were stained with blood that mutilated the once pristine white paint, appearing as if someone had filled buckets upon buckets of the red liquid and splashed it all on the walls for the sake of a bad joke. The wooden floor was even worse. Izumi took one step in and instantly slipped, falling face first into a puddle of hot blood.

"Have fun, kid!" Sogen laughed, giving her a hard thump on the back, and left her to herself. The double-doors came to a sharp close, the slam echoing around the hall with an empty hoarseness. Izumi felt like dragging Sogen back and forcing him to help her, but that was far from being possible. He'd probably just sit in the corner and laugh his head off at her misfortune anyway.

Izumi was about to wipe away the blood from her face when a sudden blast of bile charged up her throat and catapulted itself out of her mouth. Doubling over, she threw up the remains of whatever raw food she had had for lunch onto the bloody floor, adding to the list of shit she had to clean up.

Cursing herself, Izumi cleaned the blood and bile from her face, smearing her already soiled uniform with even more stains, and headed to the storeroom. Luckily, there weren't any shinigami around to stumble upon her and revel in her shame. She had no problem locating the storeroom, for there was only one in the whole of the barracks, and soon she came back with a broom, a mop, a bucket of water and a bottle of green detergent.

Alone and holding her breath, she set to work while her squad mates dug into a feast of raw rice and eggs.

xxx

It felt like endless hours of back-breaking work before the floor was clean. Blood still dripped from the walls though, but Izumi gave into temptation and dropped to the floor, falling flat on her backside.

Despite everything though, cleaning the hall was actually better when compared to cleaning the bathroom and restrooms, mainly because there weren't any sour-smelling yellow stains on the walls. Izumi shuddered as she remembered the yellow-smeared ceiling and how working on that had made her neck as stiff and rigid as a tree trunk.

Izumi lay on her back and let out a tired sigh, exhausted. But when she opened her eyes, she found a pair of ruby orbs staring down at her, wide and inquisitive. She blinked in confusion – once, twice – and, stumbling upon realization, she catapulted to her feet.

"L-lieu-lieutenant!" The sweat that had bathed her now turned cold and began flowing anew. She swallowed anxiously at the sweet smile painted across Lieutenant Kusajishi Yachiru's face as the child cocked her head to the side and pointed up at her.

"You're all covered in red!" she laughed, as if being splattered with blood was the most normal thing a child could fathom.

Izumi could only stare, dumbstruck, at how undisturbed the kid was by the sight of gore. In the back of her mind her conscience ridiculed her for having thrown up while a mere child didn't show the slightest bit of discomfort.

Then it dawned upon Izumi the motive behind the lieutenant's visit. Nearly choking on the thought of having to play one of her stupid "games" again – and getting kicked in the ass for it – Izumi quickly grabbed the mop and the bucket and made for the wall at the far end. With frantic thoughts running through her head, she plunged the head of the mop into the dirty, bloody water and started to slosh it across the gory wall.

Yachiru, oblivious to her inferior's distress, skipped across the hall and up to her. She stood behind the woman, well out of the way of getting splashed with blood and, with her arms folded across her chest, took up the appearance of a midget supervisor.

"What'cha doin'?"

"Cleaning." _What kind of damned question is _that_?_

"Because Feather-face told'ja to, right?"

At that, Izumi turned around to face her, expression screwed over with puzzlement. "Who?"

"Feather-face." Yachiru stared back at her in pure innocence. "Y'know, the guy with feathers? I kinda forgot his name... But don't tell 'em that, 'kay?" She pressed an index finger to her lips, beaming. "It's a secret!"

Blowing an exasperated raspberry, Izumi returned to her work, paying no more attention to her. But still, no matter how much she wanted to push the thought out of her mind, she couldn't help but laugh over the nickname the Fifth Seat had earned for himself by adorning his eyebrow with feathers. Absently, she wondered what the purpose of the accessory was. Surely being in the Eleventh Division...didn't require one to appear like a damned fashion model, did it? Speaking of which, what were those strange markings at the edges of the Third Seat's – Izumi had forgotten his name – eyes anyway?

_They must be gays._

"What're ya laughin' at?"

Realizing that she had been snickering aloud, Izumi pursed her lips tightly and glared at the bloodstained wall. So much for having some peace and quiet. She had been trying to persuade herself that being ordered to clean the barracks alone could yield some time for thinking, and she had been getting along just fine before this..._brat _showed up in all her pink glory.

"Let's play tag again, Panda-chan!"

Izumi involuntarily flinched at that title. First it was "Murakami's woman", now it was "Panda-chan." The Eleventh Division was starting to create an ugly mark in her book as "the name-calling squadron of the Gotei 13." The nicknames just _wouldn't_ stop coming.

"_Look_, brat," Izumi whirled around, teeth grinding, and held up a warning index finger, "cut out that goddamn nickname or I swear I'll cut out your huge goddamn eyeballs and pin them up on the wall."

Yachiru didn't look even the slightest bit fazed. Instead, she cocked her head to the side and screwed up her face in a frown. "Ken-chan says it's not right to say words like that. I think you should stop it before he finds out, Panda-chan."

Izumi couldn't believe her ears. Considering how coarse his division was, Zaraki Kenpachi was highly unlikely to be warning the child about curse words and the like. She couldn't even picture the huge man telling his subordinates about how bad it was to swear. Despite how difficult it was though, she tried and, when only the outlines of the image materialized in her mind, she burst out laughing.

"_Him_? _Captain _Zaraki? Telling _you _that it's _not right _to _swear_?" She continued to laugh until she had to lean against the wall for support. Once her mirth died down and her gut-wrenching guffaw had faded to a few small chuckles, she wiped the tears away from her eyes and stared down at Yachiru.

"Hah! The captain's got to be a sissy if he warns the team away from curse words. But if he is, then he's doing a rather lousy job at it. Sogen and that Third Seat of yours curse like it's nobody's damned business." Izumi continued wiping the mop head across the wall, not caring whether or not it needed to be dunked into a pail of clean water in order to carry out a more effective job. "And I don't give a shit about it either, brat."

One would think that, judging by the treatment Izumi was giving her, Yachiru would be the lower-ranking officer as opposed to her actually being the lieutenant. There was not even affection or respect of the slightest degree present within Izumi's words or actions. But, like Izumi had said, she didn't give a rat's ass. Saito cursed, and she sure as hell was going to curse, too. No little pink-haired child was going to stop her. Even if that child was her superior.

Izumi felt a tug at her hakama. She turned her head, looked down and nearly exploded when she saw Yachiru right at her feet, blinking up at her in all her childish innocence.

"C'mon, Panda-chan, let's play tag."

Izumi willed herself not to lose control, and she settled for the best reply she could manage at that point: a cold, muttered "no."

"But I'm _bored_!" Yachiru whined, tugging persistently at the woman's hakama.

Finally, Izumi's thin thread of patience, which had mended since the previous scuffle with Sogen, snapped. She twisted away from Yachiru, forcefully ripping her hakama out of the child's small hands, and turned on her, mustering up the nastiest glare that she could – which would make Sogen fall out of his chair laughing.

"I don't care whether you're bored, or dying, or even dead. I don't give a damn! I'll swear whenever I want with whatever phrases I'd like to use and I won't care. Who's this 'Ken-chan'," she mimicked Yachiru's voice, failed, and came out in a falsetto, "of yours to care what I say? Who the hell does he think he is? Does he shit golden bricks or something? Because if he does – highly unlikely – then I'll admit that he's got power over what I do or what I say. But since I don't see anything hard and golden dropping out of his ass, there's no way in hell am I gonna give up my swearing. You can bet on it, _brat_!"

With that said, Izumi stormed out of the hall and into the living quarters. Contrary to her previous belief, the recruits weren't sleeping. None of them were. Cans and glass bottles of beer and sake littered the floor, some full, but most empty. After dinner they had undoubtedly gathered here with the alcohol, and now were playing drinking games. Another thing that the Eleventh Division was proud of was their drinking games. Nobody could beat an Eleventh Division member there – if they did somehow manage, they'd be nothing more than a bloody pile of innards by the next morning.

None of them paid attention to Izumi, as they were hopelesslydrunk. She squeezed her way through and, once in the sanctuary of the bathroom, shut the door.

"Goddamn brat," she muttered to herself, brushing dust from the bloody sleeves of her uniform. "Can't leave an adult alone fo-"

The bathroom door exploded, throwing it right off its hinges and sending its pieces flying in every direction. Izumi ducked on instinct, narrowly dodging a splinter that would have made a bad cut in her cheek.

The bathroom seemed to grow smaller, shrinking into itself, enveloping Izumi in heat that burned her skin. Sweat trickled down her face and neck without reserve. Her heart made a double leap, pounding against her chest so hard that breathing became more difficult. It felt like a boulder had been rolled on top of her, weighing her down to the floor.

It felt like Death had finally come.

Izumi choked on an invisible force that appeared out of the blue and grabbed her by the throat, squeezing the life out of her. As her feet left the floor, she caught a glimpse of a stormy grey eye filled with murderous intent.

The next thing she knew she was flying across the bathroom and crashing through a dozen walls at once.

* * *

**Beta-read by: **Laerkstrein


	11. Shackles

_The next thing she knew she was flying across the bathroom and crashing through a dozen walls at once._

Chapter 11: Shackles

Jushiro replied to his comrade's glare with a welcoming smile as she entered the ward. He could feel his subordinates, sitting on either side of the bed, flinch as the door closed with a loud bang.

"What happened here?" She walked briskly across the room and came to stand at the foot of the bed, observant, her hawk-like eyes never leaving him. "Please explain, if you will."

"Nothing out of the ordinary happened. You can take my word for it, Captain."

"Is that so?" She raised an eyebrow, cocky as always. "Then how can you explain your being locked up in the hospital under such close surveillance?"

Jushiro forced a light-hearted chuckle. "Funny that you should ask, considering how familiar you, as well as the rest of the division captains, are with my condition."

"What about your pair of Third Seats?" She folded her arms across her chest as if she were the one in higher authority. In a way, she was. "As far as I'm concerned, they are the ones who should be filling in for you during your recuperation. It wouldn't be fitting for them to be seen slacking around the hospital when it's all too clear that they are as healthy as one can be."

"Yes, well, they prefer keeping me company." He shrugged, feigning a defeated sigh. "It does get a little lonely around here, especially during this time of year when the Eleventh Division is training their new recruits. Not a single nurse can be seen walking the corridors with free time upon her hands to spare for a sick old man."

"I see many nurses walking around flirting with the male healers," she raised her voice, causing his subordinates to break a sweat, "or do you regard that as being 'busy'?"

He would have told her to lower her volume as it was a hospital, but he knew that this wasn't really the time to test the already irritated captain's patience with self-proclaimed righteousness.

"I certainly wouldn't like it if someone came over and intervened while I was trying to woo a woman. With all due respect," Jushiro said, having locked eyes with her, "I'm sure you wouldn't appreciate it either, would you, Captain?"

xxx

Falling was a frightening experience. Falling through the air, not knowing where you'd end up, or if you'd stop falling at all. Whether you'd wake up with broken limbs and ruptured organs, or in a whole new place, seeing things unknown to you.

Izumi's eyes snapped open, large and wild, the feeling of free-falling having taken quite some time to vanish. There was nothing but air beneath her feet. As much as she wanted to scream in fear, she couldn't. Her voice wouldn't come, and trying to force it out only made her choke. When her vision cleared and she felt the hard mattress beneath her, pressing uncomfortably into her back, she began to relax, uncurling her tight fists before the quilts could be torn into pieces.

The sun blinked in and out of the corner of her eye, disappearing like a sly snake every time the breeze caught the curtains. Izumi turned over to lie on her side, away from the sun's glare, and tucked her head in the crook of her elbow. She felt as if her head had been spinning, as if someone had wound it up while she had been asleep, letting it loose upon her waking.

Fast reflexes made her lean over the edge of the bed, and, before she could even fathom it, bile came charging up her throat, fast and furious, and splattered onto the white-tiled floor. Sick groans reached her ears, familiar yet foreign, sounding very far off as if they were beating back the water's incessant current just to get to her. But she knew that those horrid sounds, as well as the stench that arose once she stopped, originated from within her very being.

Someone grabbed her by the upper arms and pushed her back onto the pillow, fingers pressing hard into her skin. She would have fought against the hold hadn't she been so weak. Just as she was about to expect the worse, a young, pretty female face distorted by a worried frown appeared in her hazy line of vision.

"Murakami-san, are you all right?"

Izumi only managed to squint up at her, dazed, not trusting the capabilities of her own sense of sight. Her head pounded. She could have sworn that a giant fresh out of hell was squeezing her skull between monstrous hands, taking delight in her agony before dealing the final blow, shattering it into pieces. Blurry images of what appeared to be lumps of brain clouded her vision. She shut her eyes to block them out, unable to take in anything related to innards any longer.

"Who...who the hell are you?"

"I'm a nurse." The woman shook her head, pursing her lips at her patient's coarse tongue and lack of tact. Despite that and the gooey mess on the floor, she had placed her duties first, instincts rising to full alertness at the strained look on Izumi's face. "Is the sunlight bothering you?" She covered her patient's torso with the quilt and went to the window to draw the curtains.

The sunlight that had been glaring down upon Izumi's face, threatening to burn her eyeballs through their lids, vanished instantly, and all she could do was thank the heavens for the nurse whom she now wholeheartedly believed was godsend.

The nurse fixated her stare on the vomit-covered floor, and Izumi, doubtless, would immediately have retracted her thoughts had she seen the look on the woman's face.

She draped an arm over her forehead, letting out a soft moan, hoping that it would quench the hell giant of its thirst for her blood. Unfortunately, it only gave way to more pain, and she could feel the veins throbbing in her temples.

_Damn it..._

"So...I'm in the hospital?" She clasped a hand over her eyes, dreading the answer yet already knowing what was to come. The nurse, who was standing a ways in front of the bed, looked up from her clipboard with a frown that said it all.

"Yes, you are in the hospital," she replied rather bluntly.

Izumi didn't even need to see the expression on her face to know that the nurse thought she was an idiot.

"Got some water?" The bitter tang in her mouth was horrible. After throwing up days earlier in the hospital, she had wished that the experience wouldn't repeat itself. But judging on how it just did, one could say that fate clearly didn't like her at all.

_Shit gods.  
_

With a quiet sigh, the nurse tucked the clipboard under her arm, went to the bedside table, and poured a glass. Izumi took it from her, surprised at herself for not realizing the tumbler there in the first place, and drained it. Cool water drenched her tongue, and a slight sting reminded her of those mysterious wounds she found first thing in the morning when she woke up. She still couldn't figure out where she got it from. It was like someone had grabbed her tongue and deliberately slid a blade along it – twice.

Izumi groaned at the mental image that thought conjured. How could someone be so mad as to slide a blade across one's own tongue? How could _anyone _do that? With her pounding head, she only managed to come up with a simple answer regarding the type of person who would commit such a grisly act: Lunatics.

She placed the glass back on the bedside table, but when she retracted her hand she accidentally hit it, sending it toppling over the edge. Before she could even open her mouth to voice a warning, the nurse dove and caught the glass with both hands just in time to avoid it smashing into pieces amidst the vomit. With a sigh of relief, she straightened up, adjusted the spectacles up her nose and put the glass on the table well out of Izumi's reach.

Izumi blew a raspberry, glaring at the nurse's back as she exited the room. Once the door came to a close with a soft click, she turned on to her side, clutching the quilts tightly to her chest, and tried to go to sleep.

But the vision of a grey iris, as menacing as the tempest, kept clouding her mind's eye, keeping her from slipping into oblivion.

It was then, as the grey, somewhat demonic orb flashed before her that Izumi realized how she came to be admitted into the hospital. She sat up straight, shaking her head to clear the dizziness. Now that her awareness was returning, she was more alert, able to recall what she had seen before falling unconscious.

Blood, urine...pink hair, black shihakusho...

Izumi fisted the quilts and flung them over the edge of the bed, vexed. So that little brat actually _complained _to her beloved Ken-chan about what she had said? About her freely utilizing vulgarities when, according to the child, it wasn't encouraged by the very captain himself? And because of that _petty_ incident, he had barged into the bathroom and beat her brains out?

"Bullshit!" Izumi hissed under her breath, fingers already curled into humanoid claws ready to strangle the brat and, if possible, her Ken-chan too if they so much as set foot in the hospital.

The door opened, prompting her to grab the pillow and throw it across the room in blind fury. It was then that the massive amount of spiritual pressure made itself known, registering within Izumi's brain a tad too late, for the pillow had hit its target before she could snatch it back. She sat, frozen to the spot, eyes widening to the size of dinner plates as she stared at the captain standing in the doorway.

_Shit..._

The nurse who had been in charge of Izumi scurried in and picked up the pillow, patting and flapping it around to rid it of any imaginary dust. She shot a cold look at her patient which wasn't noticed at all considering how many plans of escape Izumi had whirling through her mind.

Izumi couldn't help but swallow when the smile on Captain Unohana Retsu's face widened just slightly. Her hand came up to sweep back a strand of hair that had come loose following the pillow's sudden assault. That smile was, according to Saito and the rest of the Eleventh Division members, really the beginning of something bad. Izumi wanted nothing more than to hide under the quilts and shrink till she was about the size of an ant. Still she sat there, stunned to her very core.

"How are you feeling, Murakami-san?" Unohana didn't take one step into the room. She just stood in the doorway with petite hands folded in front of her, ignoring the mess on the..._her _floor. "Hanataro told me that you received quite a hit from Captain Zaraki."

"I...I did...apparently." Izumi pursed her lips, clasping her trembling hands together in an effort to calm her racing heartbeat. _Stop shaking, goddamn it!_

"Well then, make sure you have plenty of rest."

That wasn't a statement nor a suggestion. To Izumi, it sounded like an order, and she gave an instant, yet crooked, nod. Unohana turned on her heel, white captain haori swiveling around along with her graceful movements. But before she could disappear down the corridor, Izumi leaped out of bed. It wasn't logic that drove her. No, logic was very much dead in her dictionary. What kept her legs going, despite the daunting spiritual pressure, was nothing but sheer willpower.

"Captain!" Izumi ran to catch up with her, thoughts racing through her mind, heart pounding against her chest. "Captain Unohana, where's Jushiro?"

Unohana fixed her with a gentle gaze, but something in those eyes made a tingle run up Izumi's spine. Instinctively, she took a minute step back, swallowing a lump that had suddenly lodged itself in her throat.

"The good captain has been admitted," said Unohana, and the anxiety Izumi felt right then only multiplied sevenfold.

"What-what for? What happened?"

It was then that Izumi began to realize why the Eleventh Division, whose members were the most fearless warriors in the whole of the Seireitei, was so afraid of this woman. The stare she gave Izumi was comparable to a pair of bright cat eyes glowing in the darkness. Once the woman's gaze had been fixed upon you, there was no possibility of shaking it off.

Izumi took a few steps back, swallowing a much larger lump this time, fear embedding itself within her heart.

"Get some rest, Murakami-san." With that final note of authority, Captain Unohana headed down the corridor and disappeared into one of the wards from which a female's sorrowful crying could be heard.

xxx

"Then tell me, how did you receive those wounds which would have killed you hadn't your fortune been high over mighty?"

"I failed to defend against my zanpakuto spirit's relentless strikes during jinzen." Jushiro could see the impatience written clearly across the woman's face, distorting her already irritated features into an expression of the sternest nature.

"Is that all there is to it?" Her tone suggested all too visibly that she didn't believe a word that rolled off his tongue. Not a single one.

"Yes, that is all."

She remained silent for a while as she stared down her sharp-tipped nose at him, smug yet discontent. "Just remember that if you are found guilty of defending the culprit, you will face dire consequences from which even the great Captain-Commander cannot save you."

He nodded, unfazed by her words. "I'm fully aware."

She searched his eyes for any signs of mockery, but then let her eyelids drift to a close, knowing better than to expect anything even remotely deceiving from the man.

"Then so be it."

xxx

The spiritual pressure that spread throughout the hallway was what made Izumi spin around. It wasn't as large as Jushiro's, but considering how long she had known him, the fact was out of the question. The pressure was foreign and strong enough to bring Izumi's senses, which hadn't ever been trained in the ways of sensing spiritual energy, stand to full alertness. She took a few steps backwards just in time to avoid crashing into a massive belly and looked up.

Staring down his large, plump nose at her was a man who stood about as tall as Captain Kyoraku. Izumi found herself thinking that he would have been taller hadn't his body decide to change its course to growing sideways. He reached out a fleshy hand and, with Izumi still frozen to the spot in utter confusion, fisted the front of her collar with stubby fingers.

"You're Murakami, right?"

"I...yes?"

He gave a curt nod, as if satisfied with himself, then turned on his heel and dragged her down the corridor. She would have fallen hadn't she the instincts to grab onto his hand. In vain she tried to pry his fingers off her, but they were strong and unrelenting.

"What the hell are you doing?" She stumbled, running to catch up with his brisk pace as the reality of being pulled through a hospital by a perfect stranger registered in her mind. "Where are we going? Who the hell are you? Hey!" She clawed at his arm, but still he moved on as if oblivious to her demands. "Are you even listening to me, you fat-ass?"

At that, he stopped altogether. Izumi was about to take pride in stealing his attention when all of a sudden he whirled a fist around and slammed it square into her face. She jerked back, pain shooting through her entire nose and up to register in her brain, paralyzing it with shock.

"Silence, you little worm," he hissed, shaking her a little. His face was so close to hers that she could smell the scent of coffee lacing through his breath. "Obey my orders and live, or insult me and face the consequences. Choose."

Unfortunately, he didn't bother on giving her time to pick an option or to even recover. He trudged forwards, dragging her along without even the slightest care for her well-being. She forced her heavy legs to move, but the pain in her nose was so great that it sent her down to her knees. He didn't care. He pulled her back to her feet and continued to haul her about like a disobedient dog.

Izumi clasped both hands over her nose, as if to shield it from another unexpected strike. Blood began flowing from between her fingers, and she was sure that, if Lieutenant Kusajishi's hit hadn't ripped apart a tissue, this fat man's punch had done the perfect job of shattering almost everything in her nose. Warm, red liquid dripped onto her hospital gown, staining its pristine white with gore.

Visitors started to turn and stare at her, and she felt like a poor circus animal, a dog on the way to severe punishment. Punishment for what, Izumi didn't know, but she couldn't help but feel that something was amiss.

Just when Izumi felt that the nurses were just going to stand on the sidelines and watch like incompetent idiots, one of them rushed forwards and caught up with the man.

"Excuse me sir, but this patient happens to be under Yamada-san's supervision and is supposed to be resting in her own ward. I humbly request you hand her over and allow me to nurse her wound."

The man stopped abruptly, causing Izumi to slam into his back. He didn't seem to notice, but she, on the other hand, doubled over with pain, muffling a cry in her sleeve. The nurse caught his stare and held it, but after a moment of uncomfortable silence she bit her bottom lip and turned away.

"What about it?" he growled, readjusting his vice grip on Izumi's collar.

"Sir, we can't just let you walk around the corridors with a patient in such a state. That and what you have done to her is, by Captain Unohana's self-penned rules, regarded as unacceptable. Please, sir, hand her over to me and be on your way."

"Insolent woman," he huffed and started down the corridor again. The nurse, however afraid she was of the man's mere presence, stayed true to her duty and caught up with him again.

"Please, sir-"

"Listen here, woman." He stopped in his tracks, and this time Izumi was tactful enough to avoid slamming face-first into him. But she wasn't prepared for what happened next. The man twisted her collar in his fist and swung her around so that she was standing between him and the nurse. In the small span of a second he had switched his grip to the back of her shirt and was now choking her with the gown's narrow neckline.

"I have my _own_ orders to abide by, and it so happens that I am a _lieutenant_ receiving orders _directly_ from my captain. When my captain says she wants a pot of jasmine tea, I fetch some for her. If my captain wants heating systems and air-conditioners in the division barracks, I purchase them for her. Right now, my captain wants to meet with this _woman_," he thrust Izumi forward, and the nurse took a step back to avoid a stray spurt of blood, "and there is _nothing_ you can say or do that will change my way of carrying out _orders_, understand?"

The nurse had gone pale, all the blood drained from her face. She took one glance at Izumi's nose, then back up at the man, holding in a sigh of resignation. "All right. But at least allow me to give the patient something to stop the bleeding."

He readjusted his grip on her collar, giving out the silent signal that there was no way in the name of the Rukon that he was going to allow her to run away. If she so much as thought about it, there was, undoubtedly, going to be hell to pay. He watched closely, taking on the appearance of a hawk scouting for prey, as the nurse fished out a few layers of tissue and handed them over to Izumi. With a final look of sympathy, she turned on her heel and hurriedly walked down the corridor.

Izumi balled up the tissues and was about to fling them at her in blind fury when he gave her neck a jerk and pulled her along.

"Hey, watch it!" Now that the position of his grip had changed, Izumi was forced to stumble backwards and, if being dragged the right way around was hard, this was like going through a torture chamber. All she could do was clasp the tissues to her nose, endure the nauseating pain and pray for the best – though she doubted that the shit gods would ever hear her. Even if they did, they wouldn't even give a shit.

_Hence the name "_shit_ gods"…_

Then Izumi remembered what the fat man had said during his outburst with the nurse just seconds before. She turned her head around to look at him, but that caused her to lose her footing and fall back. She managed to grasp his arm for support, but he shook her off.

"Is there even the minute possibility that you can walk without falling every few seconds?" he snapped, hauling her forwards.

"Wait, you're a lieutenant?" When he didn't answer, the anxiety that had welled up within her gave way to irritation. "Hey fat-ass, I'm talking to-"

He stopped once again, spun her around so that she was facing him and, grasping the front of her collar, brought her face close to his.

"Insult me one more time and you'll be in for it, you impertinent woman," he hissed, spiritual pressure flaring and filling the entire corridor with its overbearing power. As countless beads of sweat formed heavy and hot on her face, Izumi couldn't help but wonder how such a fat, seemingly unhealthy man such as him could possibly own an amount of spiritual pressure this large.

Izumi crookedly held up her hands, bones trembling beneath their very skin. Seeing her submission, though reluctant, made him huff something that went along the lines of "smart enough". With a jerk, he resumed dragging her through the corridors, holding his head with his nose high in the air as if he had just won a grand prize for setting a record.

_A shitty record, that's what. _Izumi sniffed, cursing when the pain renewed itself and flowed through in torturous waves. By now the front of her hospital gown was drenched in red, plastered fast to her chest. She wiped the blood from her nose and mouth, throwing a soiled tissue into a nearby dustbin with a mental curse at her captor.

"You haven't answered me yet, you know," she started, pushing away streams of bad thoughts running through her mind. Something nagged at the back of her mentality, warning her, but she took no heed to it. "Who are you? A lieutenant?"

"Correct. I'm a lieutenant," he replied after a moment when Izumi was about to give up on squeezing any answers out of him. She froze, stunned down to her very toes. "Move, we have no time to waste," he barked, jerking her along.

And she had thought that he had merely been pulling her leg.

What could a lieutenant – a fat one at that – would want with her? Surely she hadn't done anything to upset his captain, right? Izumi could only hope because, considering how she never really looked before leaping, she could have done anything to disrupt the peace and not know about the implications of her actions until days later when everything had gone into an uproar.

But it also depended on which captain wanted to see her. She wouldn't mind being summoned to an audience with Captain Kyoraku – maybe she could even request a novel or two out of him. The thought made her snicker, and the man turned his head to give her a sideways glance which clearly stated that he thought she was insane to be laughing at a time like this.

She cleared her throat, a shade of embarrassment flooding her cheeks. It would be impossible for it to be Captain Kyoraku anyway…unless Lieutenant Ise had suddenly transformed into a damned fat-ass with a penchant for bitching at nurses and choking helpless patients.

Highly unlikely.

"What's your division, then?" she pressed, pushing her luck. Surely it couldn't be any worse to twist the situation into one much stranger than it currently was. "Who's your captain?"

He was quiet for a while, roughly pulling her along and ignoring the passing nurses and Fourth Division healers.

"Commander of the Onmitsukido and the Executive Militia," he finally said. "Ninth Head of the Fon Family, captain of the Second Division." He increased his pace. "Captain Soi Fon."

Izumi skidded to a stop, only to fall face-first into his sweaty back. Growling in disgust, she tried with all her might to pry his fingers off her, but she still wasn't strong enough.

"You're going to take me to your captain?" she spluttered, cursing her own luck. She shouldn't have sneaked out of her ward in the first place. If she hadn't...then this encounter wouldn't have happened, and she wouldn't be on her way to meeting yet another captain for the day.

"Silence, woman!" Fed up with her ongoing protests and demands, the man clamped a large hand over her mouth. She bit his palm, but it seemed to deal him no pain of the slightest degree – probably because he was protected with a ridiculous amount of fat. She, on the other hand, was left with a salty taste in her mouth.

After a great deal of struggling – much on Izumi's part – they reached the ward at the end of the corridor. He twisted the knob, she kicked the door open with her flailing legs, and he shoved her in, shutting it as she crashed to the floor in a heap.

Izumi, groaning at the fresh bruise on her temple, grasped the edge of the bed and strained to pull herself up.

"Damned...fat-ass..."

"I-Izumi?"

At the sound of her name being spoken by such a familiar voice, she looked up immediately, brightening upon seeing that face she knew all too well.

"Jushiro!"

A smile graced Ukitake's tired yet relieved features, but Izumi couldn't help but notice that it was a strained one designed to hide the utter exhaustion behind a facade. Captain Kyoraku was a trained eye at seeing through his best friend's masks, and it was from him that she had learned the skill. Despite not being as good as him though, she was still capable of telling when the man needed some time off, and it was right now that he really needed a steaming cup of tea made of the finest Kuchiki leaves beside him.

"Whatever happened to your face?" Jushiro leaned forwards a little, curiosity and slight panic lacing through him. Izumi's hands flew to her nose, hastily wiping the blood away with the sleeve of her hospital gown.

"Don't worry about me, worry about yourself! What happened?" Izumi stepped closer to him for further inspection, but could go no more than two steps when a couple of masked men grabbed her, each on one arm, and hauled her back. "What the-"

It was then that she saw the woman.

Standing in the corner at the back of the room, shielded by light and layers of translucent curtains, was Captain Soi Fon herself. Sharp, intense dark eyes pierced Izumi's own, drilling into her soul with a steadfast resolve to dig up whatever skeletons she had stashed away in her closet.

Izumi had been too preoccupied with Jushiro's sudden appearance that she hadn't noticed the atmosphere thick and heavy with massive amounts of spiritual pressure. It weighted down upon her shoulders, causing her knees to shake beyond her control, and it was only by the stern grip of the two men that she managed to keep standing.

Soi Fon pushed off from the wall, absently dusting the front of her immaculate white haori. "You're the one they call Murakami Izumi, are you not?"

Standing at her full height, Soi Fon only came up to her inferior's eyes. Izumi would have laughed if this was any other person, but she was well aware that teasing a captain about their flaws was somewhat equivalent to suicide.

"Y-yes." Izumi nodded in response, trying hard not to stammer. The clinking of chains shattering the sudden silence made her spin around, but one of the men grasped the back of her head and thrust it forward. She felt cold stone biting into her wrists the next second as a click, one resonating with unseen power, signaled finality.

"What is the meaning of this, Soi Fon?" Jushiro demanded, climbing out of bed. His two Third Seats instantaneously leaped to their feet, rushing to his side in less than a moment's notice. Though he might seem frail judging on how ghastly his complexion was, he waved them off and stood by himself, back straight without support, returning Soi Fon's intense stare with his own.

Soi Fon, ignoring her fellow captain, nodded at her two subordinates and made for the door. Jushiro could only watch, speechless, as they shoved Izumi along.

"Jushiro, what the hell's going on?" She strained with the shackles, flinching at how the cold metal prickled her skin.

Jushiro was as confused as she. Gathering his strength, he stumbled past the group and stood between them and the door, trying his best to remain calm. "Where are you taking her, Soi Fon?"

"Prison."

All Izumi could do was scramble for words which eluded her. Only Jushiro managed to keep his tongue – as well as his mentality – in check.

"For what reason? I have no recollection of ever talking about this."

Izumi gaped at his words. Her anger flared, and the unrelenting hold the two men had on her did nothing but fuel it.

"What's that supposed to mean, Ukitake?" she snapped, trying to jerk free despite the obvious evidence that she was outdone in terms of strength. "Did you... Are you trying to put me behind bars? Let me go, damn it! I've done nothing...!"

Jushiro was more than familiar with the Second Division captain's speed, for it even rivaled her predecessor's, but he definitely hadn't caught a glimpse of the chop aimed to the back of the neck till Izumi was slumped against the two men, out cold.

"'I've done nothing wrong.'" Soi Fon stood in the doorway, and when she turned her head Jushiro could see the glint of something sinister within her cold, distant eyes. "With all due respect, I never imagined her to utter such a common phrase shared amongst bandits and murderers. You need to be taught a thing or two about which group of people you mix with. Following that previous incident, I expect that you have already learned your lesson, Captain Ukitake."

Leaning against his pair of Third Seats for support as he hacked into his sleeve, Jushiro could only watch as Soi Fon and her lieutenant Omaeda took an unconscious Izumi away.

* * *

**Beta-read by: **Laerkstrein


	12. The Nest of Maggots

_Leaning against his pair of Third Seats for support as he hacked into his sleeve, Jushiro could only watch as Soi Fon and her lieutenant Omaeda took an unconscious Izumi away._

Chapter 12: The Nest of Maggots

Days spent in this shithole were, at the very least, equivalent going through Hell and back.

The Nest of Maggots wasn't quite a place for the weak. Food was only provided once a day, and that usually consisted of a small lump of rice, hard and stiff, alongside two or three potatoes. Everything the prisoners ate was raw, and, most of the time, unclean. Following the absence of a decent faucet, water was given with the coming of rain, and if there wasn't a storm enough to quench the thirst of the jailers themselves, prisoners would have to suffer through the day without so much as a drop to ease the dry, coarse walls of their throats.

Izumi sat in her own assigned cell, staring blandly into the darkness. The cells were built within the walls of a cave, lined along a rocky corridor and stretching on into oblivion, seemingly endless. On her way here, she had found that the cave sat on a small plateau, shrouded by layers upon layers of canopy so thick that sunlight only reached the undernourished ground through little holes and cracks. Surrounding the plateau was a wide, deep moat that cut off escape and entry, ensuring that the prisoners stayed where they were supposed to be.

Having sat there for hours on end, doing nothing but eat, drink and take a piss in the corner, Izumi was beginning to feel the draining effects of being kept in solitude and forgotten in darkness. With no companion and a bare cell, the Nest was a good place to live if one had the insatiable desire to go insane. She had no idea as to how many days had passed, how many hours, minutes, seconds. She didn't know anything except for the bowl of food and leaking cup of water she had been "generously" provided with. All she knew was that it was merely a matter of time before her sanity left her completely.

It goes without saying that one had to be strong, not only physically, but mentally in order to survive such a place.

Izumi had heard rumours about a certain captain of the Gotei 13 who, up till a horrid accident dating back a century earlier, had been imprisoned in this very cave. From what she had heard, nobody knew anything in regards to the extent of his crime, nor its nature, or even _why _he had committed it in the first place. The information had been strictly stashed away for fear of ruining the name of the Gotei 13. As the years continued to pass, such knowledge was doomed to be lost in the depths of history. Perhaps only a chosen few knew of the origins of said crime, but one thing was for certain: What he had done, whatever it was, had been enough for him to be christened as the most infamous convict the Seireitei had ever known.

And now he was loose, a former prisoner whom the Seireitei allowed to run amok, despite his branding as being "mentally unstable" and "a possible threat to the Soul Society." Not many knew of how he had managed to escape, and even less about his rise to the position of captain, but some rumours implied that he had received assistance from a "trusted friend." Then again, rumours were just rumours, weren't they? They couldn't be taken seriously, for some of those with vivid imaginations had the power to conjure and weave such fanciful tales – tales that ultimately twisted and changed the course of events until they could no longer be identified, much less be universally recognized as something that had happened in reality.

How the government had let such a criminal escape the deepest confines of his cell and permitted him to straddle the seat of captaincy was utterly beyond Izumi. Perhaps she had been too ignorant, unaware as to the mechanics of the Seireitei's administrative office that she had never really thought about it until now. Saito used to tell her about the Gotei 13, about the thirteen divisions and what duties were assigned to each. His stories had been vague, and seemed to have been concentrated on the Eleventh Division. Yet, he often mentioned that he learned everything regarding the Seireitei, as well as Soul Society as a whole, from the previous Kenpachi. Having been around for gods-knew-how-long, the man was a wise leader, as Izumi had heard, and a great fighter. It was said that he had been dealt a fatal blow by the current Kenpachi for his captaincy, and the members of the Eleventh had gone into indescribable shock as they watched their leader fall before their very eyes.

It mattered not how many times Saito had recalled the tale of Captain Kiganjo being slaughtered by Zaraki – Izumi just couldn't bring herself to believe it. The mere thought of the experienced, weathered leader being defeated in a single strike was too much. This inevitably led her to think of her own captain, Zaraki, and his brat of a lieutenant. Just the thought of the pair made Izumi's blood boil. If the lieutenant hadn't told him about Izumi's swearing, she wouldn't have been admitted to the hospital. And if she hadn't been admitted, then she wouldn't have been forced to deal with being dragged around by that fat lieutenant, and, as a bonus, she wouldn't have met his captain.

In short, everything stemmed from the pink-haired brat herself. Izumi's conviction was because of her big fat mouth and Captain-fucking-Zaraki's strength.

Izumi took a deep breath, inhaling as far as she could go until she felt like her lungs were going to burst. She held it in, counting to five with her fingers, and then let it out, expelling all the fury that had welled up inside of her. And yet, after repeating the process three more times, she still boiled with vexation. Her cheeks felt as if they were heating up with anger, fingers curling upon instinct to strangle someone, anyone. Preferably a certain pink-haired brat.

Sighing in frustration, Izumi placed the half-empty bowl down and lay on her back, stretching her arms and legs until their joints cracked in protest. The ground smelled nothing like the fresh earth that brimmed with greenery outside. It smelled somewhat stale and bitter, dead earth that was doomed to be obscured by the shadow of the cave above it, shielding it from the glare of the sun. In all honesty, Izumi wouldn't have minded if she were to be punished to stand under the blazing sun for an hour or two. At least she'd have some light instead of being kept like a caged animal in solitary darkness.

Izumi let her eyelids drift to a close, but the constant turmoil within her only grew with each passing heartbeat, adding to the anxiety that weighed upon her shoulders. But that did nothing to stop her from drifting off into slumber. In truth, it didn't have to. Sleep had eluded her for as long as she could remember. No matter how much she wanted to pursue it naturally, nothing worked. Thanks to that, she had what everyone called "panda-eyes" and, Izumi figured in disgust, the origins of the goddamned nickname, "Panda-chan."

That brat was going to pay. Izumi was sure of it.

What she needed right then was a little alcohol. Some good ol' sake to calm her jittery nerves and soothe the pain that tore at her chest: The pain of being betrayed. She couldn't remember the last time she had tasted such bitter resentment, but it cut her to the bone to know that her close friend had resorted to abandonment at the last minute. Such people weren't true friends... But if Jushiro, the kind and warm-hearted man who treated everyone as his equal, the man whom she had known for so long couldn't be trusted, who then wasthe ideal companion?

Footsteps echoed throughout the cave, daunting, as a familiar spiritual pressure pattern floated across the atmosphere to reach Izumi's untrained senses. It took a while for it to register in her brain, but when it did, she turned over to lie on her side with a scoff of disbelief. The footsteps grew louder as they approached. Upon reaching her jail cell, they stopped, allowing her to guess that there were two people there. One was undoubtedly a jailer, but the other... Izumi didn't even want to think about it.

The large, thick, brass padlock gave way, the chains that bound the cell door together sliding off in a clanking heap.

"Not more than five minutes, Captain," muttered the jailer, gruff yet stern and respectful, swinging the door shut once Izumi's guest had entered.

When he had locked the chains back in place and disappeared out of sight and earshot, Izumi scrambled to her feet and backed up against the wall, eyes widening to the size of saucers once they settled upon the white-haired captain.

Jushiro, his face expressing unspoken words of relief, held up both his hands with their palms facing her, signaling that he had come without any intent of causing her harm. She noticed that his zanpakuto wasn't by his side, leaving him vulnerable to attack. According to a rule of the Detention Unit, those visiting the Nest of Maggots had to leave their zanpakuto at the entrance with the jailers and enter with nothing but the clothes on their backs. This was due to a safety precaution to avoid any help from reaching the inside, as well as to prevent the escape of prisoners. Visitors had to rely on their bare hands should anything unwanted happen. Those who couldn't cope with that were forbidden to enter the nest.

Izumi felt the heat overriding her as her fingers curled into tight, trembling fists. Jushiro seemed to know what was to come, for he took a step closer to her, hands still raised.

"Izumi, listen-"

"You _bastard_!" she screamed, voice echoing in the small cell. "What did you tell Captain Soi Fon? What did you say to her? What kind of bullshit deal did you make with her that made you give _me_ up?" She stormed over to him and, with both hands, grabbed the front of his haori. "What did you fucking _do_, you...you..." Too stunned, she was at a lost for words.

Jushiro gently rested his hands on her shoulders, remorse crossing his face. "Keep calm Izumi, and listen to me." He managed to give her a light squeeze before she pulled away.

"There's no way am I listening to _you _anymore," she spat, bending over to pick up the bowl. "You, along with that stupid brat and her fucking _mother, _are the ones who put me here in the first place. If I hadn't joined the Eleventh-fucking-Division, I wouldn't have met those two maniacs. If I hadn't met them, I wouldn't even _be _here. It's because of people like _you_ that I'm in trouble with the goddamned law!" She launched the bowl at him in blind fury, only to watch as he easily dodged her lousy aim with a tilt of his head. The piece of worn, dirty china whizzed past his right ear and collided with the steel door, shattering upon impact.

Having had enough of her antics, Jushiro pursed his lips and marched up to her, brows furrowed in a stern frown. He reached out, nimble hands creating a firm grip upon Izumi's wrists. She pulled away, only to be jerked back. His hold didn't wither in the slightest, contrasting his frail appearance. Izumi cursed herself as his grip started to hurt, squeezing her skin between the cracks of his slender fingers. She should have known better than to cross his line of patience.

"Shush, Murakami," Jushiro hissed under his breath, fixing his gaze upon hers, unwavering. "Be quiet and listen to me, even if it's just for a minute."

Tightening her fists, Izumi bit her bottom lip and glared up at him. The evil voice at the back of her mind urged her to challenge him and, though the idea was horridly tempting, she continued to bite herself in an attempt to silence it. Despite what the man had done to her, she still couldn't be mad at him for long – partly because she respected him as a captain as well as a friend, and every bit of her silently prayed for his betrayal to be false.

"Are you ready to listen now?" Jushiro kept his hold around her wrists in case she decided to go wild again. He didn't need her temper to make the situation more complicated. Seeing that she was submitting, even if unwillingly, it was enough. He exhaled slowly, as if to calm himself first, and went on, "I didn't come here to mock or pick a fight with you, Izumi. I just came here to clarify our positions. You need to hear the truth, and I want you to hear it from me."

Izumi let out a low growl, tugging at his hold, but deep down she pleaded for it. The truth. She wanted him to finally be open and honest with her. That was what she needed more than anything.

"Captain Soi Fon and I... We had a misunderstanding. She misinterpreted the answers I gave in response to her questions. I didn't know that you were there in the hospital in the first place. It was only when Lieutenant Omaeda brought you into my ward that I finally realized the seriousness of the situation." He retracted one of his hands, placed it upon his chest and peeled away the collar of his uniform to show her the bandages wrapped around his upper body.

"Most importantly," he continued, watching as her eyes widened upon her inspection of his bandages, and he felt the strength in her wrists falter, "you were misunderstood. These wounds stem from my previous battle with my zanpakuto spirits. I had been careless, too preoccupied with the day's work that I hadn't seen their attacks until they struck me down."

Izumi swallowed, heart leaping with joy that it was all just a ridiculous mix-up, but still she couldn't help but feel that something was amiss. She tore her eyes away from the bandages and looked up at him.

"But you were never careless," she whispered, eyes searching his own for a definite answer.

A warm smile graced his features as he let her go. "You should have seen me during my Academy days. I was much clumsier than I am now, and my zanpakuto's shikai only made it all the more worse. It doesn't mean that, because I'm a captain, I can't be careless, Izumi."

She stared at him for a moment, trying to absorb everything that had just been relayed to her. "So Captain Soi Fon made a mistake?"

"Yes, the misinterpretation of information."

"...meaning she got everything wrong?"

"Yes."

Izumi fell back against the wall and slid down to the ground, groaning her relief. So it was just all a misunderstanding? And she had thought that the Gotei 13 was an efficient military organization made up of able-bodied, intelligent men and women. Judging by the way they allowed an ex-convict to run free, the head of the Onmitsukido sentence an innocent, unseated shinigami to the Nest, as well as permit Zaraki to rule a division was enough proof that the Seireitei's armed forces were out of control.

With an old, senile man as its head, who wouldn't be surprised?

Someone pounded hard on the metal door, rudely interrupting their silence. "Your five minutes are up, Captain Ukitake," the jailer called. "Please step outside."

"Izumi." Jushiro grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her until she gathered what was left of her strength to look at him in the eye. "I'll get you out of here. Don't worry, I will. I will speak with Captain Soi Fon and even the Commander to ensure your release. In the meantime, you have to endure the Nest. I can't give you an exact date, but I _will_ secure your release."

Izumi could only nod, dazed at his words. The jailer swung open the door, and the faint light of his torch cast a warm, orange glow in the dark, dismal cell.

"Captain Ukitake." He stepped to the side of the doorway, gesturing for Jushiro to exit. With one last whisper of reassurance, Jushiro left her and, standing behind the jailer, watched as Izumi was swallowed up by darkness once again as the door swung to a close.

Izumi sat there in silence, staring into pitch blackness, not even knowing where her own limbs were. Tilting her head back, she pondered Jushiro's words. The more she thought about them, the more she tried to force herself to believe that the captain was being true. But her doubt-filled mind wouldn't let her do so. It wouldn't let her trust Jushiro, no matter how much she wanted to, and that troubled her. They had been friends for so many years, for as long as she could remember, and yet there she was, having doubts about his promises.

_What'd you do, Saito...if you were me?_

A small chuckle, self-condemning, hissed its way out of her throat. She wondered what he'd do to her, what he'd say, if he found her in such a state: In prison, having had a beating from about three captains, and being an inmate with "mentally unstable" printed across her forehead. He'd probably bitch-slap her all the way to the Rukon, drag her back to the Seireitei, and then nag her brains out.

She didn't know how long she sat there, musing over what was to come and what had already passed, but when an explosion sounded above her cell, she immediately leaped to her feet and lunged for cover. The roof gave way and collapsed, burying the ground where she had been just seconds before. A long, thick silver blade shot out of the blue, reflecting the sunlight into Izumi's eyes and nearly blinding her. She froze as it came to rest upon her collarbone, pointing its razor sharp tip at her throat. The next thing that made a terrified scream lodge itself in her throat was a large, chubby face like that of an infant filling her line of sight. The only difference between an ugly baby and this one was that it had bright yellow skin and bulging eyes without irises. And it was uglier than a normal baby. The sickening hue of its skin made her wonder whether it – whatever it was – had been poisoned.

Izumi forced herself to look up into the glaring sun. It gleamed over the creature's large head, and when she squinted, the sight that confronted her caused a shock of electricity to shoot through her whole body, paralyzing her from head to toe and all the way to the tips of her fingers.

She had been right to have doubts about the administration of the Seireitei, for there she was staring the ex-convict in the face. He stood atop the beast's head, hem of his white haori flapping in the wind.

With a nod of satisfaction to the young woman beside him and teeth barred in a mad grin, he turned to fix his piercing, golden eyes upon Izumi.

"Take the woman, Nemu. We must make haste before the guards arrive..."

* * *

**Beta-read by: **Laerkstrein


	13. Edge of Sanity

_"Take the woman, Nemu. We must make haste before the guards arrive..."_

Chapter 13: Edge of Sanity

"Oh, shit gods…"

That was the only thing that Izumi was capable of blurting out as she stared the zanpakuto's bankai in the face. If this wasn't a bankai, then what the hell was it? It was huge, heavy and gruesome. The hue of its skin, she knew, would never fail to disgust her even if she were to glue her eyes to it for the next few centuries. Ugly as it was, she couldn't avert her gaze. This proved to be unfortunate, for she felt the familiar discharge of bile rushing up her throat at that moment, filled to the brim with explosive intent. But the adrenaline that flowed through her veins, turning her senses on and bringing them far beyond their maximum capabilities, was more than enough to force it back down.

The beast was unlike anything Izumi had ever seen in her life. She didn't think that something like this could even exist in the Rukon. Everyone was fully aware of the conditions in the lower districts, but she was dead certain that the poor residents who witnessed bloodshed and murder on a daily basis would stop, frozen to their spots, much like herself, and stare with a dropped jaw at the magnificent, yet grotesque, sight before them.

Its monstrous head, a sickly yellow, contained white spheres for eyes, set deep inside sockets with purple-blotched edges that seemed like someone had stabbed them with stakes and drew out violet-coloured blood. The head was attached to a long, thick body much like that of a caterpillar's, and, protruding out from the gap beneath its chin were a number of broad, silver blades with tips seemingly sharp enough to pierce through the hardest of substances.

The blade that rested on her collarbone, with mere inches left before it would puncture a hole in her throat, swayed in tune to the rhythm of the creature's slow, sideways movement. One second it was safely away from her, and the next, it came so close as to graze the surface of her skin, though not hard enough to draw blood. Izumi could do nothing but stand there, stunned to her very core, trembling fists curled tightly enough for her nails to dig into her palms. But, with the shock still reigning over her, she was numb to the pain.

Upon a barked order from the beast's master, the young brunette, clad in a short shihakusho with her hair stylized in a simple yet elegant long braid, hopped down, landing with ease upon the rubble which was what was left of the cell's ceiling. As she approached, Izumi wanted to back away and crouch in the corner, begging for mercy, but the blade at her throat emitted a silent warning. A warning to not test the power of its master, lest she was willing to face the consequences. Izumi didn't know what those "consequences" were, but she was hell-bent on staying away from them.

The woman, her emotionless face springing with youthful beauty, reached out a hand and curled her fingers around Izumi's wrist. She seemed…slightly mechanical in her hold, and she possessed a vice-grip that was strong enough to match, and even go beyond, the boundaries of that fat-ass lieutenant's. To say that Izumi was astounded would be, at the very least, an understatement. The blade retracted itself, slowly and steadily, pausing in mid-air just inches away from Izumi's face in a silent reminder of what was to come if she were to seek out opportunities and take advantage of the moment.

Thankfully, spending days cooped up in that dark, cold cell that stank of bitter resentment and piss didn't exhaust Izumi of all her sanity. With that said, she still possessed the minute tact to stay as still as possible, swallowing her panic and fear to be dealt with openly another time. Assuming, of course, she managed to even survive this encounter.

She had been lucky enough to emerge in one piece after having been confronted by three captains, but this fourth captain was a little...different. The way his wide, golden eyes shone with pleasure as they gazed into Izumi's own, unwavering and unblinking, struck a nerve and sent shivers running up her spine – something she had never before experienced.

And that grin… A huge lump formed in her throat with every intention of choking her, as if those barred teeth hid the most secret of incantations that now seized absolute control over her system. Just the image of that maniacal, inhumane face was enough to drive her out of her own mind, tearing away what little sanity she had left. That, along with the massive spiritual pressure centering around the man's figure, brought Izumi to her knees just as the woman was about to pull her towards the creature.

"Who…who are you?" Izumi managed to choke out, grasping the woman's wrist for support. "What…the hell…are you doing?"

Without even a word of reply, she took hold of both of Izumi's wrists and pulled her to her feet with little to no effort. Izumi, weak and unstable, allowed herself to be pulled along before she stumbled and tripped over the rubble. Down to her knees again, this time wincing in pain as the effects of the adrenal rush wore off, she tugged feebly at the woman's grip, wishing that she would let go and leave, never to come back with that man whose grin gleamed with sadistic desire.

Through the sudden ringing in her ears Izumi could hear the voices of men and their rushed footsteps echoing throughout the cave, frenzied and filled with indescribable panic that so reflected what raged within her.

"Guards…" she wheezed, reaching out a trembling hand for the metal door.

"Make haste Nemu – or do you want me to cut you up again?" the man snapped, gesturing frantically for them to climb onto the beast. "If you aren't up here in the next instant with that woman in one piece, I'll slice you open after I'm done with her, _understand_?"

"_Slice you open"?_

"Guards!" Izumi started for the door with newfound energy having generated from the resolve of _not _wanting to be involved in whatever it was the man was going on about. The vice-grip that held her in place didn't waver in the slightest, but she failed to notice, let alone care, as she dragged the woman along in her desperate crawl towards the exit.

"_Nemu_! If you let Experiment Number Eighty-Four escape, I'll-"

The bitter threats were drowned out with the coming of a sudden gut-wrenching pain in her abdomen, and the ringing in Izumi's ears persisted even after she had fallen into oblivion.

xxx

White was all that belonged within that world. A little void of sorts where the only colour that reigned supreme was a pale white. White like that of pure virgin snow… No, snow was far too chaste to be compared to this. Lending a hand to the fact that snow wasn't present was the heat that fell upon her cheeks, steaming and filled with moisture. The blood rushed to gather in her face, accumulating beneath her skin enough to implode. The dizziness settled in as more steam blew by her, engulfing. It wasn't as bad as the morning after a wild night out, yet it still felt like the hell giant had returned with a vengeance and was now squeezing her head between its two monstrous hands.

She inhaled, but when a torrent of hot liquid flowed into her nose, Izumi lurched up, breaking the surface of the water with a wheezing gasp. She cleared her eyes and, after a while of sneezing and spluttering, looked around to find herself waist-deep in a stream. Steam sizzled from the water's surface, caressing her skin as if to soothe her pounding heart. Rocks encircled the spring, as well as clumps of slim bamboo trees leaning over the water's edge, their leaves just barely touching the surface. The bamboo formed a tight circular wall around the area, enclosing and isolating it from the outside world.

Izumi rubbed her eyes and blinked several times until they watered, but the scene before her didn't alter in the slightest.

She remembered all too clearly the dull cell to which she had been confined days before. The smell of piss and the stiffness of raw food that made her vomit just minutes after swallowing it; Izumi remembered it all. Jushiro's visit was as lucid as ever within her mind, and she could see him there with his hands upturned, and the promise he had made to her. To free her from prison. After that…it had been the madman's turn to twist her life around, shattering through the ceiling with his nauseating beast.

But…with the sudden change of atmosphere, all that had happened seemed so far away now. It was like looking back several centuries into memories that appeared to have been made just yesterday. Izumi wasn't sure whether they were true memories or not, for they seemed too horrid to be real. She had never dreamed of going through what she, allegedly, had experienced, so she couldn't determine if any of that had actually _happened _at all. Perhaps they were just the illusions of a confused and grieving mind, conjured up to engage the victim.

With that thought in mind, Izumi leaned back against a smooth boulder and stretched her arms above her head, sighing as her bones emitted small sounds of protest. Now… Now there was nothing to worry about. The Nest of Maggots was a godforsaken place, a place for convicts who had committed disgusting bouts of crime, a place unsuited for someone like her. If she had been forced to stay in that cell for one more day, it was certain that she'd have lost her sanity.

Completely.

Why she had been captured and thrown into prison was completely beyond her. Who the hell made such an accusation? Surely it hadn't been Jushiro. Or had it? It couldn't be him since the man had promised to help secure her release, could it? It must have been something Captain Soi Fon had said, or perhaps she had taken it upon herself to chain Izumi and shove her into a cell. But, being the Commander of the Onmitsukido, as her fat-ass lieutenant had said, accusing people without a trace of proof should have been the last thing on her list.

With a groan, irritated at her own confusion and lack of understanding, Izumi let her eyelids drift to a close. The steam warmed her face, its gentle touch almost strong enough to lull her into slumber. What good would it do if Soi Fon was indeed responsible for those false accusations? Izumi wasn't even sure if the events following that peaceful night, when she and Jushiro sat in her little kitchen, him nursing a bowl of herbal soup, talking away about nothing in particular, had even been real. Izumi couldn't even remember exactly what it was that they had conversed about, nor what had happened afterwards, but the second she woke up in the hospital and stepped out of her ward, her life had suffered a terrible twist.

Izumi clasped a hand over her face, breathing a sigh. _To hell with it. _This little hot spring was her own solitary "cell" now, a little paradise that no one else had access to. Questions nagged at the back of her mind regarding the hot spring, whether it was real or just another illusion invoked by a half-witted mind, but she stashed them away to be dealt with later – if ever. She knew that, having found her very own paradise, she was not going to surrender it to the doubts plaguing her mind.

Just as she began to get comfortable, a rustle in the wall of bamboo disrupted the otherwise peaceful silence. A blur of silver and brown flashed before her, a jagged vision behind her eyelids, and the stream erupted right in her face. Waves crashed over Izumi, and she was sent barreling through the hot spring. Forcing the persistent dizziness away, she grasped onto the rocky edges and kicked to the surface, breaking it with a gasp of fresh air. The water sloshed about like miniature tempests, but Izumi continued to crouch, hiding every inch of her body save for her eyes and nostrils underwater.

Izumi looked around, eyes flicking left and right, up and down, but all she saw was the spring itself in its own original state. The bamboos and boulders were unperturbed. With anxiety cloaking her newfound peace, she stood up slowly, warily, certain that something was up.

"Hey, there!"

Following the friendly shout in her ear, Izumi leaped forward with a yelp, falling into the water with a clumsy splash. When she resurfaced, she was greeted with a pair of yellow eyes staring down at her and a wide grin of mischief plastered to a face like that of a young man's.

"Hah! Pansy." He poked her in the forehead with a laugh, grabbed the front of her hospital gown and strained to pull her to her feet. "What the _hell _have you been eating, you fat-ass?"

All Izumi could do was stare at the man – no, the _boy _who still had years to go through in order to pass on into adulthood. The only clothes on him was the torn hakama that reminded Izumi a lot of the poor regions of the Rukon where people would delight at the mere thought of possessing rags. But what really caught her attention was his silver mane, wavy and loosely splayed about his slender shoulders. It grew much longer at the back of his head, curling around a large metal ring with cryptic etchings adorning its surface. Never had she seen anything like it, or anyone that even remotely resembled the youth before her.

"Hey, done starin'?" He waved a hand in her face, then smacked her head to get her attention.

"Who the hell are you?" she growled, swiping his hand away, but he retracted it in time with invisible speed.

"You mean you don't know who I am?" He slapped his own cheek, heaved a sigh and, turning his back on her, went over to sit on the edge of the hot spring. "I should've known better…"

"What're you going on about?" Izumi stayed where she was, on the alert, and reached for her blade. Her hand came to rest on her bare hip, and panic arose fast within her upon realization.

_Shit, where's my-_

"Your zanpakuto?"

Izumi looked at him sharply, and found him staring back into her eyes with a glint of knowing, sinisterly portrayed in those yellow, serpentine orbs.

_How did he...?_

"How do I know what you're thinking?" He let out a chuckle, lazily resting his chin in a hand. "Of course I know what's going on in your goddamned head, you little asswipe."

"What… What the fuck?" Izumi, fists trembling and teeth clenched in fury, stormed through the spring towards him. The water objected to her movements, as if protesting to what she was about to do, but still she kept on going, no matter how clumsy she appeared right then.

He sat there, eyes closed as if his mind had wandered off somewhere else, and she lunged at him in fury, only to catch nothing but empty air.

A slight breeze blew past her ear as a tingle ran up her spine, and that was how she knew where exactly he was at that very moment. She didn't see him, she _felt_ him.

"You wanna know the truth?" His hot breath lingered upon her shoulder, thick with an intention that she couldn't yet decipher. "You wanna know how you ended up in that fucked up prison? Why? Ukitake didn't betray you, no. Why would he anyway? Think. Why? Why did that woman lock you up? Why did the fat-ass drag you around like the animal that you're not?" His voice grew louder with each passing word until finally he was shouting in her ear, "Why? Think!"

"I don't know!" Izumi whirled around to bury a fist into his face, having had enough of his demands. But she knew that he wasn't there at the same time she realized that he was once again behind her, one step ahead.

"You've got a fuckin' brain, but you don't _use_ it!" He shoved her hard, but before she could trip and fall back into the spring, he grabbed her and spun her around to face him. With his sharp, jagged-edged nails digging painfully into her forearms, he brought her face close to his till the tips of their noses were nearly touching. "_Use_ your _brain_! Think! Why? Tell me _why_!"

"I…" Izumi could only shake her head in denial, her voice lost upon setting her gaze on his eyes. They drained her of what little energy she had left, rendering her a feeble, cornered prey. If the Nest of Maggots hadn't driven her insane, then his stare would be the one to do it. His breath, thick with the stench of alcohol, burned her face, and she squeezed her eyes shut. "I…I don't know…"

"_I'll_ tell you why then," he hissed, shaking her hard till she felt like her head was going to roll right off her shoulders. "It's all _your_ fuckin' fault. _You _started it, you _dumbass_!"

"What did I..."

"_You _attacked Captain Uki-"

"It wasn't _me_!"

Izumi grabbed his shoulders, prompting him to stop shaking her. With her will finally breaking into pieces, tears welled up in her eyes as she tried to hold back the fury, the grief, the pain that had gathered in her heart. As she forced herself to stare into his yellow orbs, she willed her own inner strength to not falter, to not give way until she was out of his hold. Unfortunately, the persistent shiver that ran throughout her whole body was a clear sign that she was going down, soon to be defeated if not already.

"It…it wasn't me, damn it!" she strained through gritted teeth, eyes pleading for him to agree. But all he did was shake his head as the water rose up around them, spinning itself into a vortex. The whirlpool engulfed them, and she wanted nothing but to get out at that very second, to return to her cell if that was what it took to escape death by drowning.

Death by this stranger's hands.

"Who…who are you?" she cried above the growing tempest's screams, clawing at his hands to let her go. The water seemed to wrap itself around her body, entering her nostrils and mouth, sliding along the contours of her frame until it blended in and became one with her. His rigid grip around her arms appeared to melt into her skin, and slowly his own figure merged with hers till all she could see were his gleaming, yellow eyes.

"I'm your goddamned spirit, you idiot."

That last whisper was what Izumi managed to make out before her feet left the ground and her body was thrown into the maelstrom.

xxx

The room, silent save for the soft buzzing of machines, was a haven for those mad enough to pursue their dreams. Dreams and imaginations delving deep within the scientific field and, occasionally, going past its boundaries.

When that happened, the pursuer in question would, more often than not, be driven by overwhelming curiosity to catapult past the known limits of science, creating another margin for their inferiors to catch up to. They were praised, worshiped for their extraordinary contribution to science, to the future of posterity, but with power and knowledge came a price.

Those men, as brave, curious and intelligent as they were, took a violent twist and were left to suffer in a newfound mental state: Insanity.

That insanity not only accounted for the scientists, but for the subjects of their experimentation as well.

The room, once silent and eerily peaceful, awoke upon the sudden screaming of the master's latest experiment. One would think that it was a torture chamber with unlimited tactics of inflicting pain… In a way, the laboratory actually _was_ a torture chamber. Not only did it house equipment capable of severing a figure until it was a limbless, shrieking mass, but the constant buzzing of the machines, though subtle, was enough to drive one to the brink of madness.

"Nemu, silence the specimen. I've no time to deal with meaningless drabble."

Izumi's head spun wildly around for that voice, hands flailing about and slapping away vials and beakers from nearby tables. They crashed to the floor, shattering and spilling colourful liquid that sizzled and burned small holes in the immaculate tiles.

The man, who had been bent over at the table in the corner, whirled around, his white-painted face twisting into an ugly, furious frown once he settled his gaze upon the broken containers. The left side of his torso sported a bloody stump in place of where an arm should have been, and in his right hand he held what appeared to be a severed limb.

Izumi could do nothing but scream, horrified. He stormed up to her, detached arm waving about in the air with blood dripping obscenely, leaving thick trails of red liquid upon the tiled floor. His golden eyes had widened to the size of plates, and they glowed with murderous intent that so reminded her of her own captain's single grey eye that she had managed to catch a glimpse of before being knocked out cold.

Izumi scrambled up and, in her haste to get away from the man, fell over the edge of the lab table and landed hard on the cold floor. A bout of dizziness seized her, drilling into her temples so forcefully that she had no choice but to throw up a puddle of bile.

A harsh kick into her side sent her sprawling onto her back. Laying spread-eagled and vulnerable, she could only stare as the man planted his feet on either side of her, pinning her down. The young woman behind him stuffed a rolled up piece of cloth into her mouth. The gag tasted sour and bitter, and it felt hot against her tongue, but she was too afraid to even move a muscle, let alone get rid of it.

"Fool!" he screamed, swinging the hand of the severed arm, slapping her hard across the face with it. "Have you any idea how long it took me to formulate those acids? How much _longer_ it took to create them and perfect them? I should have let you die on my lab table after I was done with you!"

He backhanded her again, the swing harsher this time and sending a shock of pain traveling up the side of her face that caused Izumi to spit the bloody gag out. As if unsatisfied with slapping his experiment around, he stormed across the room and smacked the young woman, who had been standing to the side in silence all this while, across the face.

"You and your pitiful capabilities are what drive me to regret even creating you in the first place, Nemu," he hissed and, if Izumi had thought she had received a hard one, the man's partner was given the most ruthless beating she had ever seen. Izumi crawled into a corner and hugged her knees to her chest as she watched him slap her back and forth, back and forth, about six to eight times in a row. She, meanwhile, merely endured without so much as a gasp of pain.

"Take the specimen, place her upon the lab table, and make sure that she keeps her filthy hands to herself." He swung the back of the severed hand across her cheek once again, leaving more blood smears upon her unblemished skin. "Understand?"

She nodded a little shakily, fingers twisting the skirt of her shihakusho. "Yes, Mayuri-sama."

With that, he returned to his table in the far end and resumed tending to his severed arm. The young woman, Nemu, approached Izumi and wrapped her fingers around her wrist. That was when Izumi finally realized the stump on her own right shoulder, where her arm _should _have been. It bled profusely, staining her black shihakusho and leaving it darker than it was supposed to be. Strands of muscle dangled from the stub, a gruesome reminder of what used to be there before being brutally sliced off.

"Oh, shit gods…" Izumi breathed, hugging herself even tighter. Just _what_ had she gotten herself into? She tugged away from the woman, but Nemu's grip returned to its vice-like state, clamping around her stronger than a beast's pincer. With not much choice, Izumi reluctantly allowed herself to be pulled of the floor and led back to the lab table where she was promptly sat down and given a moist cloth to wipe the blood from her face.

"Tell me…" Izumi forced herself to speak, diverting her eyes away from Nemu's bloody stub. "Why… What am I doing here?"

Nemu turned to look at the captain, and Izumi had to wait in apprehension while he worked on his detached limb. She could hear sickening sounds of metal puncturing flesh, and blood could be seen spurting over his shoulders, splattering the table and dripping over the edge onto the floor. There was an ache in her stomach so nauseating that Izumi had to double over to refrain from choking out more abdominal wastes.

Then finally, he turned around, still holding the severed arm to his chest, and said, "Have you any recollection of events following your little evening tea with Captain Ukitake?"

Izumi frowned in puzzlement, trying hard to ignore the bloody limb. "What's that got to do with-"

"Silence! Remember now and answer me!"

Fear escalating fast, Izumi squeezed her eyes shut and tried to recall. The image of her and Jushiro talking over a bowl of herbal soup flashed before her mind's eye, and she held onto it, bringing it into focus. But the image was blurred, and the words being said sounded like they were being shouted through water. She held her head in her hands, clenching her teeth as she thought. What happened after that was nothing but a distorted picture, only to resume from when she had awakened in the hospital. Nothing more, nothing less.

The sudden wave of spiritual pressure that crashed over her made Izumi snap her head up, only to be met with the captain's piercing gaze. Eye-to-eye with him, she could do nothing but sit frozen in place as if, behind those barred teeth, his tongue was carving out incantations to bind her and hold her down.

"You… _You're_ the ex-convict…aren't you?" Izumi found herself whispering as fear blackened her heart, as her fists shook uncontrollably by her sides. "K-Kuro…Kurotsuchi… Mayuri…"

A faint smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth, causing that maddening grin to grow even wider, as he wrenched something out of Nemu's grasp.

"Perhaps _this_," he placed the slender form of a blade, cold and raw, in Izumi's hands, "will help you remember."

xxx

Flash-stepping across the rooftops of the Seireitei, Jushiro and one of Soi Fon's subordinates, who belonged to the Detention Unit, raced against time towards the Twelfth Division. Shinigami that passed by them in the streets had to spin around just to catch a glimpse of their figures as they whizzed past, and they were left to wonder just what it was that had happened to require Captain Ukitake, as well as the Second Division's, attentions.

Jushiro hadn't even made it back to his own division after visiting Izumi when he had heard the news of a break-in at the Nest of Maggots. He knew that Kiyone and Sentaro had been following him all this while, only hiding outside the Nest while waiting for him. But, as it had turned out, they had stayed back to dig out information about the Nest from the jailers. Information that they planned on feeding to him later. He had inwardly laughed at the idea because, being one of the oldest captains of the Seireitei, the thought of him not having full knowledge of the mechanics of the Nest was rather ridiculous. Sometimes his Third Seats could be so helpful that it was nearly insulting.

Thanks to their diligence though, Kiyone and Sentaro had been the ones, along with the jailers themselves, to witness the mass break-in. The jailers had fought with all their might to ward off the intruder, despite his rank, but their miserable defeat was inevitable. The two Third Seats had managed to escape in time to avoid certain death, and they came tripping over themselves to Jushiro to relay the news.

Immediately, he had rushed back to the Nest in hopes of stopping the intrusion, but had been too late. Captain Soi Fon was already there, along with Lieutenant Omaeda and several members of the Detention Unit. Nothing but the prison rubble greeted them, and Soi Fon's vexation had caused Jushiro to take a step back.

To make it up to her and to find out first-hand just what had happened, Jushiro offered himself to take up the chase. Soi Fon, bound by duty to report the case to the Captain-Commander, sent a handpicked subordinate to assist him. Just the vague description of the culprit from Kiyone was enough for Jushiro to decipher the puzzle.

_Kurotsuchi…_

The captain, though a certified madman, had skills and talents that went far beyond the limits of normal shinigami. He was a genius, and that was what made Jushiro look past his insanity and admire the way his cultured, yet corrupted, mind handled the complex affairs of science.

But going so far as to free a prisoner from the Nest of Maggots was, even by Kurotsuchi's standards of mental instability, mad.

A few more roofs and they finally arrived at the Twelfth Division barracks. Its doors were normal enough to be a part of the Gotei 13, but Jushiro knew that, behind those walls, behind such a "friendly" façade, was an atmosphere where only lunatics could survive.

The Second Division member walked straight in without so much as a knock to signal their presence, and Jushiro, rather reluctantly, trailed at his heels. The Onmitsukido was infamous for its straightforward methods in dealing with criminals, especially the Detention Unit whose members operated under the Commander herself.

"You." He pointed at one of the many Twelfth Division recruits who had gathered to see what the fuss was all about. "I'm here under the direct order of Captain Soi Fon. I need to speak with your captain immediately, as well as the criminal whom he had previously sought out from the Nest of Maggots."

Without even the slightest bit of hesitation, three of the recruits scampered down the hallway and out of sight. Jushiro, however anxious he was inside, flashed a warm smile at the remaining members.

"Carry on. We'll only be here for a few minutes," he said. His reassuring words were met with muttered replies and several polite nods before they dispersed.

It may have only been a _few _minutes waiting, but Jushiro felt like an hour had passed. Being a captain with an analytical mind, he couldn't help but delve within the thoughts that swarmed his mentality, plaguing it. The reason that madman had broken Izumi out of jail was to experiment on her; he was absolutely sure of it. The man lived solely for research and development, and science seemed to have existed because of his contributions, be them sacrilegious or not.

All Jushiro could do was hope that Kurotsuchi didn't misuse the information he had entrusted to him.

Footsteps echoed through the hallway, and in the next instant the said mad scientist appeared before Jushiro, waving a severed arm in the air in fury.

"Just what is it that you want _now_, Captain Ukitake?" he barked, pointing the arm straight at him. "I would imagine you to be smart enough to know that a scientist such as myself would need _unperturbed _time for an experiment as complex as this!"

Nemu arrived behind her captain, sporting a bloody stump at the end of her right shoulder that made Jushiro frown in quiet disagreement.

"On behalf of Captain Soi Fon, I'd like to have a word with you, Captain Kurotsuchi," said the Detention Unit officer, ignoring the tendrils of muscle hanging from Nemu's stump. To tell the truth, he had seen worse.

"Depending on my mood, I'll have a word with you once I'm finished with Experiment Eighty-Four." Kurotsuchi turned on his heel, absently slapping someone's shoulder with his bloody arm. "Come, specimen. Ignore these fools and let us return to the laboratory."

It was then that Jushiro, having settled his eyes upon Izumi and the blood-coated blade in her trembling hands, realized how much Kurotsuchi had abused his trust.

"I…" Izumi grasped the blade with her bare hand, squeezing out blood from her own palm as her eyes widened with panic. "I'm…sorry…"

* * *

**Beta-read by: **Laerkstrein


	14. One Hot Afternoon

_"I…" Izumi grasped the blade with her bare hand, squeezing out blood from her own palm as her eyes widened with panic. "I'm…sorry…"_

Chapter 14: One Hot Afternoon

As the clouds parted, giving way to the great fiery sphere to shine down upon his face, Zaraki Kenpachi rolled over to lie on his side, muttering a salty curse. It was times like these that he hated the sun, wishing that he could just slice it into minuscule pieces and plunge the whole of Soul Society into complete darkness. That was, of course, impossible, but if the man was to be provoked, he would set out to do it without so much as a second thought. That was how he went about his work. There was no room for tactics or strategy, or even planning. All he needed was his own strength, his enormous spiritual pressure, and nothing else.

Kenpachi tried to go back to sleep, but the persistent knocking upon his door, which had been going on for quite some time now, had kept him awake. He hadn't the mood to answer the door when the knocking started approximately half an hour ago, preferring to indulge in his afternoon nap a little while longer. If it were Yumichika, Ikkaku, or anyone else, he didn't give a damn. The only event that would jolt him out of slumber was a multitude of hollows rampaging about the Seireitei – little beasts that would make good training material.

On the other hand, if it were to be a certain pink-haired brat, he had no choice but to answer to her calls. She was the only person who could, and would, charge in without a warning whenever she wanted something from him. She didn't ask; she demanded, and if Kenpachi were to turn down any of her requests, be it a simple trip to the candy store or to sit like a paternal idiot at a Shinigami Women's Association meeting, he, undoubtedly, would have been skinned and had his thick skull pounded into a pulp.

The knocking was ceaseless, and Kenpachi had to resist the sudden temptation to grab his zanpakuto and slaughter the intruder in one blow.

"Captain?" Yumichika's hesitant voice reached his ears for the third time that afternoon, slightly muffled by the thickness of the door.

At first, it had been Ikkaku who had mustered up his courage and muttered an apology for intruding, followed by a most polite request for the captain to get up. But, before he could even finish his sentence and go on to explain the reason behind this untimely intrusion, Kenpachi had dozed off with his face buried in the pillow, limbs spread out and occupying the large bed with ease.

Just when Kenpachi was about to ignore his duty as captain once again, Yumichika voiced out a word that somehow managed to catch his attention, causing him to grab the pillow he had been using to smother his own face and fling it across the room at the door.

"I'm _comin'_, ye lil' prick!" That snarl, which housed many threats left unspoken, was more than enough to silence the Fifth Seat.

With a groan of irritation, Kenpachi raised himself on his elbows, swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and got to his feet. Stretching his arms high above his head, he leaned backwards, grunting when the bones in his spine cracked in protest to the sudden movement. The taut muscles in his abdomen loosened up, untying like a complex knot. Usually it took him quite a while before he would actually get out of bed, partly due to the fact that Yachiru would be sleeping on top of him, and he, naturally, had no intention of stealing whatever damned fantasy she had playing in her dreams.

Rubbing his eyes with the back of a hand, Kenpachi crossed the room in two long strides and flung open the door to find the said Fifth Seat, along with his bald companion who was leaning against the opposite wall with his arms folded across his chest.

"Thought ye'd gone off t'shit yerself," Kenpachi growled at Ikkaku, who scoffed a little uneasily in return, before turning to rest his eyes upon Yumichika. "What's up with ye bastards? I told ye not to come cryin' t'me in the afternoons, or did Yachiru jus' chewed yer fuckin' brains out?"

Yumichika shrugged, putting up a mask to hide his own anxiety. He, along with the rest of the Eleventh Division, was all the more familiar with their captain's mood whenever he was awakened against his own will.

"There's an emergency meeting at the-"

"Yeah, ye said somethin' 'bout the old fart." Kenpachi leaned against the doorframe, folding his arms across his chest. "What 'bout it?"

"We don't know," Ikkaku interrupted, pushing off from the wall. "Lieutenant Sasakibe's out in the barracks waitin' for ye. Said the old man's got somethin' t'talk to ye 'bout."

Kenpachi's eyes hardened, curious as to what the Captain-Commander would want with him at a time like this – not that he had anything else to do, but taking Yachiru out hunting for candy was better than being stuck in a boring-as-fuck captains' meeting.

Running his fingers over his forehead, Kenpachi gave a scoff and retreated back into the bedroom. "That all ye got for me?"

"We tried diggin' out some more info for ye, but that lil' asswipe ain't got nothin' else t'say t'us. All he said was it's some confidential bullshit an' told us t'fuck off," said Ikkaku, shooting a glare down the corridor.

Kenpachi huffed, adjusting his hakama that had slipped too far down his waist for comfort. Sasakibe Chojiro, being the lieutenant of the old man himself, would never spit out such salty phrases akin to those that Ikkaku had just uttered. The man was just too "classically Western" for involving himself with the "ruthless miscreants of the Eleventh," and Kenpachi, who wasn't much of a thinker himself except on occasion, couldn't help but wonder what was so damn important to have Yamamoto send his second-in-command to come fetch him.

Then, as he was slipping on his captain's haori, Kenpachi finally realized the whole problem, from its roots right up to its consequences. Before Yumichika could close the bedroom door behind him, Kenpachi blocked it with his foot and tore the knob from the smaller man's hand.

"Where the hell's Yachiru?" he demanded, a slight wave of panic taking over him.

Despite how much of a nuisance the brat was, she proved to be quite talented in hiding the truths of her own little crimes, so well that even Kenpachi himself couldn't notice. But still, there was always the chance that she would get caught, and there was no way of ever knowing what went on in the old fart's withered head. Old he may be, but Kenpachi, in spite of his calling the man by such a sacrilegious nickname, knew all too well that he was not one to be trifled with.

Yumichika, recognizing the tone in his captain's voice, forced a reassuring smile. "She's over at Captain Kuchiki's division, most probably annoying the poor man with her endless chatters."

At that, Kenpachi spat, prompting Yumichika to leap back and glue himself to the opposite wall, face immediately drained of colour. Ikkaku, who had been watching the exchange in silence, burst out with a guffaw, earning himself a glare from his companion.

Kenpachi grabbed his zanpakuto and, tying it to his hakama with an obi, stormed down the corridor towards the training hall. Ikkaku trailed at his heels while Yumichika was left to moan over how close he had been to having a dribble of "Captain-spit" on his purple mane.

Despite how much he disliked – actually, _hated_ –the man, Kenpachi would rather Yachiru be with Princess Kuchiki than standing before the Captain-Commander, whose gentle appearance was merely a facade to concealing power that went far beyond the combined strength of the shinigami within his own division. The First may be filled to the brim with model shinigami, but there was not even the slightest possibility that stated that they were able to stand their ground should they hold a face-off with the great captain.

Kenpachi doubted the old man would ever hurt a child, considering how much he valued honour and justice, but there was no telling what he _would_ do to discipline Yachiru. If he were to try anything funny...

"Where the fuck's that asswipe?" Kenpachi barked once they reached the training hall, his loud voice that echoed across the large room effectively freezing the recruits in place.

"He went outside, Captain," Ueshiba instantly quipped, pointing at the exit.

With a growl, Kenpachi threw the double-doors open and stormed out into the hot afternoon, blinking his eye several times until it was used to the blinding amount of light. The recruits, the ones who preferred burning themselves to a crisp, were locked in vigorous spars, hacking and slicing away at each other with battle cries that would have deafened anyone other than those belonging to the Eleventh.

During normal afternoons, when the sun wasn't so hot and he wasn't forced out of slumber by idiots, Kenpachi would have seized the chance to join in and slap his inferiors around for the sake of having some cheap fun. Yachiru would be hanging onto his shoulder, or perhaps tucked safely away in the back of his collar, squealing cheers in his ear as he hacked away at those half-assed pansies.

Now, as Kenpachi's eyes settled upon the figure that stood in the corner, well out of the way of the sun's glares, he wondered absently whether Yamamoto wanted a new lieutenant. If he did, Kenpachi would be glad to help him get rid of his old one anytime – preferably right at that moment.

Isolated from the rest of the barracks, standing under a tree for shade, was none other than Lieutenant Sasakibe Chojiro. He stood at full attention, alert as if on the look-out for enemies, with his back straight and one hand resting on the hilt of his zanpakuto.

Kenpachi gave Ikkaku and Yumichika, who had caught up after ordering someone to clean up the spit outside the captain's quarters, a curt nod to signal them to stay behind before approaching the man. Sasakibe turned to give him a bow, but Kenpachi was certain that it wasn't all that sincere.

"Sasakibe," he grunted, already feeling the disdain the lieutenant had for his division.

"Captain Zaraki." He nodded, clearing his throat. The man's politeness was superficial, but his eyes shone with detest he felt for the captain before him. Nevertheless, he still took his duty to heart, putting his job and captain first before his own emotions. "I have been ordered by the Captain-Commander to escort you to the First Division."

"I know that lil' bit," Kenpachi snapped, not having the mood to be bossed around. "Why didn't ye jus' send a goddamned butterfly? Ain't that s'posed t'be easier?" At least a hell butterfly was "prettier" to look at than the man's stuck-up face.

Sasakibe shook his head. "Given your infamy in ignoring orders, Captain Zaraki, the Captain-Commander turned to having me relay the news to you first-hand, as well as to ensure your immediate compliance."

"Cheh. What sorta bullshit news would that be?"

"It's a rather confidential matter. Captain Yamamoto will relay it to you upon your arrival at the First."

Kenpachi scoffed, glaring down his hooked nose at the lieutenant. "Ye think I give a rat's ass 'bout somethin' I don't even know 'bout? Tell me what's up now, or I'll have ye guts for garters."

The glint in the captain's grey eye caused Sasakibe to swallow, but he managed to refrain from taking a much-needed step back.

"It..." Sasakibe cleared his throat again, reminding himself that if they were late, he would have his own innards in the hands of the old man. But then, when he tried looking into Zaraki's eye to reason with him, he found that he just couldn't, that his inner strength had just been washed down the drain. He averted his gaze, and, in spite of the disrespect that gesture presented, turned his back on Kenpachi. "It heavily concerns a member of your division, Captain Zaraki."

A frown tugged at the corners of Kenpachi's mouth as he folded his arms across his chest. As far as _he _was concerned, the pansies of his division were right where they should be: training, doing chores and, in Yumichika's special case, working on paperwork. He hadn't heard of anyone being absent for duty, nor even being late, which was an improvement from several days earlier. Other than Yachiru and that woman whom he had slapped around the other day for bitching at his runt, there was no one else to be suspected for anything by the old fart.

The woman – whatever the fuck her name was – had, according to Yumichika, been admitted into the hospital. With the beating he had given her, there was not even a chance in hell that she would be coming back anytime soon – if ever.

Kenpachi let out a nasal sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. Maybe that brat had really gotten caught red-handed this time.

"Is it serious?"

Sasakibe faked a cough, and proceeded towards the entrance of the training grounds. The rigidness of his stature was worse than usual, giving off the air that if Kenpachi were to disobey Yamamoto's orders, there would be hell to pay.

"If it involves five captains of the Gotei 13, sir, I would be quite surprised if it wasn't."

xxx

"This is an _outrage_!"

Before Kenpachi could even step into the office, he was greeted with the ever shrill voice of a certain captain of the Twelfth Division. It brought a smirk to his face, and he let out a snicker loud enough to cause the occupants of the room to turn towards him as he entered. The double-doors closed behind him with a definite bang, leaving him within the confines of the First Division until Yamamoto saw it fit for him to return to his own.

Kenpachi let his eye sweep over those unfortunate enough to be called to an audience with Yamamoto. Seeing that there were only five captains present, this obviously wasn't a meeting.

"What's up?" Kenpachi nodded at the old man, who sat in a high-backed chair behind a massive desk. Doubtless, he had been in the middle of a confrontation with the madman, and Kurotsuchi's white-painted face was still twisted in a furious frown that grew even worse upon settling his eyes on his fellow captain.

"What business do you have here, Zaraki?" Mayuri spat, whirling around to face him fully, hand already grasping the hilt of his zanpakuto.

Kenpachi all but smirked, dirty humour tickling him as he, for the umpteenth time since he had first seen the man, wonder why he tucked his zanpakuto in front of his crotch like that. Yachiru, the ever observant little brat that she was, had questioned him about it once, and Kenpachi had burst out laughing till his eyes watered and his stomach ached. Yachiru was left with nothing but an impression that Mayuri was afraid of women coming after him, and when one did, he would instantly grab the zanpakuto and swing upwards, slashing the said female into two in a split second.

Of course, only Kurotsuchi himself knew why, but Kenpachi preferred his own little theory. It was, in his personal opinion, much better than any scientific explanation coloured with fanciful phrases and long-assed words the scientist had stashed up his sleeve.

"I summoned him, Captain Kurotsuchi," said Yamamoto, his voice ever so low. "There is no need to be so hostile towards a fellow comrade, is there?"

"Ye got somethin' ye wanna say t'me, Kurotsuchi?" Kenpachi taunted, and Mayuri was about to lunge at him with his unsheathed zanpakuto when Jushiro threw out an arm to stop him.

"Listen to the Commander, Captain Kurotsuchi, and stay your blade," Jushiro said, grasping the other man's sleeve before he could make another move.

Mayuri, with a low growl and a menacing glare at Jushiro, wrenched himself out of his hold and turned away, trying hard to ignore Kenpachi's coarse laughter that echoed across the office.

"Zaraki," Jushiro warned just as Yamamoto rose from his seat.

Kenpachi knew that tone all too well; he had had a few outbursts during meetings in the past where Jushiro, being the one stationed beside him, took it upon himself to quell his anger. And the man showed talent in doing so. He had done quite a good job at keeping Kenpachi out of the tight spot, stopping him from blurting out words that would have caused him to claim a spot on Yamamoto's blacklist.

But to say that they were friends was merely an overstatement. Kenpachi had respect for him, given how he was one of the oldest captains of the Gotei 13 and had been taught by the old man himself, but they were no more than comrades fighting for the same cause.

That, along with the fact that Kenpachi just pitied the way his illness acted up every now and then, striking at the most inauspicious of hours, were what made him hold his tongue.

Speaking of which, Kenpachi had heard from Yumichika about Ukitake being hospitalized yet again. When his Fifth Seat had told him the news, he had reclined back in his chair with a scoff and his eyes closed, not wanting to waste any of his time listening to a piece of bullshit that would be repeated again in a few weeks.

Or so he had thought.

Yumichika was smart enough not to plague his captain with things that weren't worth mentioning, but this time around it wasn't concerning Ukitake's poor health. The man had been found lying unconscious in the streets of the Seireitei in a pool of carnage, while around him lay pieces of shattered tiles and concrete. His body was littered with wounds, wide, deep and bloody; with his already horrid health, it was a wonder how he could have survived the encounter and be discharged so soon.

With a laidback grin, Kenpachi mock-saluted. "Ukitake."

Despite being slightly emaciated, the man appeared fine. Normal, even. But Kenpachi couldn't help but notice the bandages that peeked above the collar of his shihakusho. Being brought up in the 80th District as an avid fighter, Kenpachi was well-acquainted with bandages, and the apparent cleanliness of Jushiro's, along with their smooth hems and unwrinkled surface, was enough proof that they were new.

Jushiro had been hospitalized about a week ago, and the bandages meant that he wasn't fully recovered yet.

Yamamoto should know this better than anyone, but, with such a seemingly important case at hand, he had chosen to forfeit his former student's health. As curious as Kenpachi was of Ukitake's condition, of just _what _had the strength to bring him down to his knees, he kept his mouth shut. Sasakibe had said that the old man would tell him upon his arrival, so all he needed to do was be patient.

Which was another thing he wasn't good at.

The Captain-Commander rounded the desk, the sound his cane made whenever it planted itself on the smooth, polished wooden floor echoing throughout the office only to be picked up by the wind, whisked away over the rooftops of the Seireitei.

"Captain Zaraki," Yamamoto started, walking at such an agonizingly slow pace that Kenpachi felt like grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking the information out of him at that very instant.

One thing that Kenpachi absolutely loathed about the man was his apparent tardiness of relaying news, for he loved keeping them to himself until the very last minute. Kenpachi had always suspected that that was how the First Division was always ahead of others. Acquiring accurate reports from the old fart himself would no doubt speed up the division's reactions, placing them at a head start, and when their fellow comrades from other divisions finally got hold of the information, they would be a ways ahead, impossible to catch up to.

Yamamoto was a weathered warrior who loved to play games, but still he kept it to a minimum, always putting the welfare of the Seireitei at the very top of his list.

"Do you, by any chance, recognize this face?" With his walking-stick, Yamamoto gestured towards Soi Fon. Kenpachi hadn't really paid attention to her until then, but when she stepped aside, he could hardly believe his eyes.

There, kneeling on the floor and dressed in a bloody hospital gown, with hands shackled behind her, was none other than the woman who had bitched at Yachiru. Her eyes widened upon setting their gaze on Kenpachi, and she was forced to swallow a huge lump that had suddenly formed in her throat. The expression she wore on her pale face was that of a cornered rabbit, and it made Kenpachi scoff loudly in disdain.

"Captain Zaraki?" Yamamoto planted the walking-stick in front of him, gnarled hands folded delicately over its head.

"That lil' asswipe bitched 'Chiru's fuckin' brains out!" Kenpachi snarled, storming over to her. Soi Fon, who knew perfectly well what was to come, stepped in between him and her captive, tipping her head back to glare at him. But he was still much taller than her, and all he needed to do was look over the top of her head to make eye contact with the woman. "I still haven't got an apology out'ta ye, fuck-face. Don't think that because the old fart's here, I ain't dare to rip yer fuckin' head off'a yer shoulders!"

Before Jushiro could make a move to stop him, Mayuri charged forwards and, roughly pushing Soi Fon out of the way, came to stand before Kenpachi with his shikai pointed directly in the larger man's face.

"You dare lay a hand on my specimen, I swear I will severe you _and _that little nuisance of yours before you can even step out of this office, lunatic," he hissed menacingly, golden eyes flashing threats that much reflected torture behind the walls of the Twelfth Division.

"Look who's talkin'!" Kenpachi grasped the blade of the zanpakuto, sneering when it didn't inflict so much as a small cut in his palm. "_You're _the fuckin' lunatic 'round these parts, Kurotsuchi. I may be mad, but you're worse. Stickin' up for that bastard only proves it."

"I am not 'sticking up' for the woman. She is merely a sample for my experiment, and I have no desire to watch you handle her with those filthy hands of yours." He tried to jerk his blade out of the man's hand, but his grip was like a steel pincer's, unbending. "Your interference will most likely corrupt the results, and if that happens, I _will _make you pay."

"'_Experiment_'?" Kenpachi looked from Mayuri to the woman and back, blinking in puzzlement as his grip loosened. "What the fuck d'ye mean 'experiment'?"

A visible smirk crossed Mayuri's face right then, arrogance reclaiming his expression as he yanked his zanpakuto out of the other captain's clutches, ripping the skin of his palm along the way.

"I mean it in every sense of the word." Mayuri shook his blade to get rid of the blood that it had claimed from Kenpachi, ignoring the fact that he was actually splattering it all over his "specimen's" face. "It's unsurprising for someone with an IQ as low as yours to find difficulty in comprehending it, Zaraki."

Clenching his fists, Kenpachi fixated his glare on Mayuri, and the two captains stood locked in a silent battle of wits. It was true that his arch-nemesis was Princess Kuchiki, but Kenpachi had found out quite a long time ago that he had another in the mad scientist. Kurotsuchi was a lunatic, a man who constantly chattered about nothing that didn't concern the art of science. Kenpachi only went wild whenever he encountered a worthy opponent, as the adrenaline that pumped through his veins was just too hard to resist, and nothing else.

Beating the shit out of those who insulted Yachiru didn't count.

"Enough." Jushiro intervened, placing a hand on the two captains' arms in hopes of calming their rigorous spirits. Their spiritual pressure had flared through the roof, their aura strong enough to be easily detected by an untrained shinigami from the smallest, most secluded corner of the Seireitei.

"This is an _outrage_, Captain Ukitake," Mayuri growled, unwilling to back down. "Nothing but an outrage. The situation was complicated enough before this…_brute _showed up."

"Glad t'hear that I ain't the one who made ye lose an arm," Kenpachi shot back, sneering when the other captain's eyes widened.

Jushiro needed Soi Fon's help to hold the man back. He grasped Mayuri's wrist, ducking when he made a swing for Kenpachi, while she held him around the waist.

"You're not even _worth_ my _time_, Zaraki! I will cut you up before you can even set foot outside this room, mark my words!" Mayuri shrieked as the temporary bandages he had wrapped around his stump loosened, and blood began flowing anew.

"This isn't the time nor place for a spar!" Soi Fon snapped. She would have sent a chop to the back of Mayuri's neck to plunge him into a state of unconsciousness, as she had previously done to her prisoner, but that would be inconvenient.

Yamamoto still had matters to be dealt with, and, now that Zaraki was here, they had only multiplied sevenfold. The presence of the four captains was needed, and Soi Fon had no intention of being the one to be blamed if something went awry.

Once Mayuri had finally calmed down, albeit just slightly, Jushiro and Soi Fon loosened their grip on him, but he took it upon himself and yanked away from their clutches. Muttering to himself plans of torture, he strode away from Kenpachi, only settling down when Yamamoto came to stand between them.

Jushiro, after making sure that both parties had sealed their own lips, dropped to his knees beside Izumi and inspected her. She was lying on her stomach, the side of her face pressed against the cold, hard floor. Beads of sweat dribbled down her face, dripping into her wide eyes and mouth. A trickle of saliva oozed from her parted lips, and her hospital gown was drenched in perspiration as much as it was stained with blood.

"Izumi, get up!" Jushiro whispered, gathering her in his arms and lifting her off the floor.

Kenpachi scoffed, folding his arms across his chest. "Weak-ass pansy."

The last time he had seen her was when he sent her crashing through the bathroom's wall. The hole had been mended shortly after that, as Yumichika hated seeing the bathroom so messy with debris and pieces of concrete. The men had to go on for several days without a shower, resulting in the horrid smell that had plagued the division. Ikkaku had been fine with it, but Yumichika suffered. Kenpachi, being the captain, had his own bathroom, so he and Yachiru had nothing to worry about.

Kenpachi had thought that that was the last he would see of the pansy, but, as he glared down at her right then and there, he found that he was damn wrong.

"Captain Zaraki."

At the sound of Yamamoto's voice, he turned to face him. Mayuri followed suite as well, and both of them locked eyes with each other for a split second of animosity before settling upon the old man.

"You are Murakami-san's captain, are you not?" Yamamoto faced Kenpachi, and though his lids were heavy and flaccid, the coarse captain knew that the old man was alert.

It wouldn't be fitting for the leader of the Gotei 13 to slack off.

Kenpachi turned away from him with a grunt, looking towards the picturesque view of the Seireitei which hung just below the broad balcony. Being the leader, admittedly, had some fine benefits.

"I ain't got half-assed wimps in my division, so no," he replied nonchalantly.

Jushiro's head snapped up, eyes widening in disbelief at what he had just heard. "What is that supposed to mean, Zaraki?" he demanded, holding the unconscious Izumi close to him.

"An' I thought ye were smart, Ukitake." Kenpachi turned his back on them and headed towards the exit. "That asswipe hasn't been given a proper uniform or dog tags yet, so I ain't got any responsibility over her. Ye can lock her up, torture her, kill her – I don't give a rat's fuckin' ass."

"Zaraki-"

"Very well, then."

Jushiro whipped around to face his teacher. "Master, please listen to me. Izumi hasn't done anything wrong!"

"Hm?" Yamamoto returned to his seat and, placing the walking-stick across his lap, breathed a slow, calming sigh that teased a few strands of his thick, white beard. "Are you certain, Jushiro? Then how can you explain those wounds?"

Jushiro bit on his bottom lip, eyes flickering to Mayuri and Soi Fon. The lie about his being "careless" in a battle with his zanpakuto spirits had been seen through. Yamamoto, as always, hadn't missed a beat, and when Jushiro tried to push through, he had failed miserably. But he should have known better than to tell lies to his teacher. The old man was the one who had taught him everything he knew, and it was unwise to test him. It was a fool's choice to even say a word against him, what more to cheat him right in his face.

"Yeah, Ukitake," Kenpachi, his curiosity finally seizing control of him, stopped at the door and turned his head back to look at Jushiro, "what the hell happened to ye? Heard ye got sent to the damned hospital again, but it wasn't yer sickness actin' up this time, was it?"

Jushiro chose to ignore his question and stay silent. The figure in his arms moved slightly, and he looked down to see Izumi waking. She stared up at him through hazy, half-lidded eyes as she reached up to wipe the drool from the side of her mouth.

"What...what happened?" she croaked, voice hoarse from the massive amount of spiritual pressure that had hacked away at it.

Jushiro forced a smile, and was about to answer when he was cut off by two masked men who appeared out of the blue on either side of Soi Fon. The captain, eyes hard and threatening, pointed directly at Izumi as the men moved upon her stern order.

"Seize her."

Instinctively, Jushiro's hold around Izumi tightened as he shot a look at Mayuri to stay where he was and not intervene, but the madman ignored his warning entirely.

"Stay _away _from _my specimen_!" he shrieked, jabbing furiously at the two men.

One of them was slashed in the arm, and Soi Fon immediately ordered them to retreat. She stepped forward, flexing her wrist in preparation. Kurotsuchi was difficult to deal with most of the time, but his outbursts in the last hour had driven Soi Fon up the wall so much that she couldn't take it any longer.

"Captain Kurotsu-"

"He ain't movin'." Kenpachi let out a coarse laugh, a low rumble that resonated from deep within his chest to echo across the room, and leaned against the door to watch as the events unfolded before him.

"Stand back, the both of you." Yamamoto rose again, smacking the floor with the base of his walking stick.

The sound was so sharp that it made Mayuri whirl around in search for its source, and Soi Fon, with little to no choice, flash-stepped towards him and executed a quick chop to the back of his neck. Upon connection, she felt a burst of pain shooting through her hand, travelling up her arm and numbing her brain. With a mental curse, she leaped back, gritting her teeth as she cradled her aching hand to her chest.

"Tsk." Mayuri shook his head, as if exasperated with a slow child, and patted the back of his neck where Soi Fon's aim had been. "Preparation is key, Captain. I would think that you, above all people, should know _that_."

Soi Fon, growling lowly as Kenpachi's laughter grew louder with each heave he took, signaled furiously to her inferiors. Though being not as fast as their captain, they were a blur as they flash-stepped through the air, only to be clearly seen once again when they grabbed Izumi by the arms and yanked her out of Jushiro's grasp.

"No, wait!" Jushiro clutched onto her hospital gown, trying desperately to pull her back. "The Gotei 13 reserves no rights to interfere in the matters of the noble families!"

At that, Soi Fon immediately held up her uninjured hand and gave out the order to stop. The two men let go, and Izumi flew back against Jushiro, hitting him hard in the chest. Soi Fon glanced at Yamamoto, waiting for further commands. She, being a captain and undoubtedly knowledgeable in the laws of Soul Society, knew what Jushiro was implying.

It was against the law for the Gotei 13 to meddle in the affairs of the noble families of the Soul Society.

Why Jushiro had brought it up at a time like this was rather puzzling though, and Soi Fon, being a member of her own noble house, was keen to know the answer.

"What was that, Jushiro?" One of Yamamoto's eyes had widened, his heavy brow raised in a white arc along his wrinkled forehead, as he stared at his former student.

Jushiro raised a sleeve to his mouth and hacked into it for a moment, and, when he finally locked eyes with the Captain-Commander, an aura that reflected a sense of strong determination enveloped him, flaring in his spiritual pressure.

"Yeah, so?" Kenpachi huffed, cracking the bones in his neck.

Giving Mayuri a quick glance, Jushiro tightened his hold around Izumi.

"Murakami and I..." He dabbed her sweaty hairline with his sleeve, wiping the blood from her face, and combed her sticky hair out of her eyes. "We're...we're getting married."

And, before the unbelieving eyes of his master and comrades, Jushiro sealed his words with a soft kiss to her forehead.

* * *

**Beta-read by: **Laerkstrein


	15. The Only Option

_"We're...we're getting married."_

_And, before the unbelieving eyes of his master and comrades, Jushiro sealed his words with a soft kiss to her forehead._

* * *

Chapter 15: The Only Option

Usually, it took an incident of a great magnitude, such as an event that could endanger the entire Soul Society, in order to surprise Yamamoto. The old man had seen quite a bit, for he had lived through impossible odds and survived hundreds of battles with the many scars littering his withered body, each one serving as impenetrable evidence. But as he stared at his former student, he failed to hide the wave of shock that had overtaken him.

It was... nearly impossible to think that the man, who was an infamous patient of the Fourth Division as much as Mayuri had been a notorious convict of the Nest of Maggots, could possibly snag himself a bride. He had almost no time to spare for courting women, much less chasing after them – the latter of which was an activity that Yamamoto frowned upon despite the fact that another of his students, the more eccentric one, reveled in such a pastime.

It wasn't at all that Yamamoto thought Jushiro incapable of developing a relationship with a woman. The man was, to say the very least, a rather dashing fellow. In spite of his poor health, there were plenty of women, both young and old, who fell victim to his charm. His very smile had the power to effortlessly return a woman to her days as a pathetically shy schoolgirl, while his eyes, that shamed even the most precious of emeralds, caused them to swoon the instant his gaze settled upon them.

Despite his steadily growing fan club, Jushiro was resolute in refusing the hand of any of those women with the common excuse of being "far too busy." Yamamoto understood that this upstanding man had seven siblings to support, and it was likely that he didn't want to marry for fear of neglecting his wife to the duties of a captain and responsibilities of a brother.

With that said, the old man found it rather difficult to comprehend Jushiro's sudden proclamation, and all he could do was stare at the younger man through half-lidded eyes that struggled with the construction of a façade.

Frozen in place with her hand still raised in a silent order to her subordinates to withdraw, Soi Fon found herself in a state quite similar to her superior, the only difference being that she was more shocked than puzzled. In the many years that she had known the man, she was well aware that Jushiro wouldn't jump to conclusions so easily and risk his well-being for such rash decisions. He was always the analytical one, thinking first before leaping into the fray. Such a thing was to be expected, as he was Captain Kyoraku's more rational counterpart.

Jumping into a marriage was certainly not on Jushiro's list of practical jokes, and even if it was, it would be a ridiculously bad one. This wasn't even the suitable _time _for such a thing, what with the prisoner having been broken out of the Nest by the mad scientist after committing an unforgivable crime of assaulting a captain. A crime that, by the laws, branded one as a traitor. Furthermore, Kenpachi, as Jushiro had claimed, was the woman's captain, but he professed to not having responsibility over her actions. According to him, without her official shinigami uniform and dog tags, she was not yet a member of the Eleventh Division.

Questions swarmed through Soi Fon's mind, confusing her until she had to look at Yamamoto for guidance. But the old man had turned his head to the window, his gaze sweeping over the Seireitei, seemingly unaware of the tension that had formed from Jushiro's statement.

The man was famous for turning down women who sought his hand in marriage, and this was indeed a rash decision, if nothing else. Why did he want to announce it at a time like this? Who exactly was this woman, besides being one of Mayuri's "specimens?"

A sudden burst of laughter, full-blown and rough, cut through the uneasy silence and shattered their thoughts, shaking the room to its very core. The captains turned to face Kenpachi, who was now leaning against the door with his head thrown back, engaging in a guffaw that was both mocking and disbelieving. It took him quite a while to let it all out, and once he was down to a few snickers, he fixated his eye on Jushiro with a wide sneer.

"Ye're one crazy bastard, Ukitake. Never knew ye had it in ye!"

Jushiro's eyes hardened, and all he could do was stare in disapproval as Kenpachi shamelessly laughed his heart out once again. Contradicting Jushiro's hopes that the man would lend him a hand with proving Izumi's innocence, he had come to be nothing but a useless brute who brought about a quarrel with Mayuri the moment he had stepped into the room. Those verbal fights were actually the norm whenever the pair met up, but Jushiro wished that Kenpachi, at least once, would focus on the initial plight at hand rather than jumping straight into a tongue-lashing exchange.

Unfortunately, judging by how badly things were starting to turn out, Kenpachi would not be standing up for Izumi anytime soon, if ever. The man was too busy reveling in his mirth, ridiculing Jushiro's assertion without a care for the woman's well-being. As he had previously stated, he didn't give a rat's ass about her. It would mean nothing to him if she were put to death for treason. All he wanted was to squeeze out an apology from her for talking back to Yachiru.

It had been Jushiro who had managed to convince Yamamoto to summon Kenpachi, for he knew that his fellow captain, though coarse and uncultured, would never leave a subordinate, however insubstantial, to suffer unreasonable punishment. In his own way, Kenpachi was a man of virtue, and, no matter the circumstance or its consequences, he would back up a comrade in need of his help. That was what Jushiro had initially thought, but, having not known about Izumi's little scuffle with Yachiru, such a revelation had left him speechless with shock that numbed him to his fingertips.

Jushiro looked down at Izumi to find that she was trembling. Her face was pale with fright as her eyes flickered from one captain to another. Her very behavior was reminiscent of a wild pig cornered by hungry beasts. Their massive spiritual pressure was taking its toll, weakening her. If it weren't for Jushiro and his decision to protect her, she would have become nothing but an unconscious mass on the floor.

If Jushiro were to be honest, he would say that he blamed her. She should have known better than to test Kenpachi's patience, and screaming at his little pink bob of a lieutenant was the first thing that an Eleventh Division member knew not to do. But, being one who didn't jump straight to conclusions, Jushiro made a mental note to have a stern talk with her later on. To find out just what she had done and _why. _If they managed to even survive this encounter with Yamamoto and Soi Fon.

Instinctively, Jushiro tightened his hold around Izumi, but was snapped out of his thoughts when he felt her pushing against his chest. She strained against his arms, trying desperately to get away as if he had just turned into a monster of some sort. When he returned his attention to her, he found that the fear clouding her eyes wasn't at all due to the immense power of the other captains, but because of him alone.

"You're... you're insane," she whispered, her breath having suddenly gone shallow. As Kenpachi's laughter died down, and Yamamoto turned around to face the both of them, Jushiro shot her a warning glance before pulling her closer to his chest again.

"'Married', Jushiro?" said Yamamoto, appearing not even the slightest bit confused nor surprised. But Jushiro, as well as the other captains, was more than certain that he was fighting back his curiosity. Tilting his head to the side, he studied his student, and then Izumi. "I've never heard of you speaking of a betrothal before. Or have you been keeping your old master in the dark all this while?"

Jushiro forced a smile as he helped Izumi to her feet. Her knees shook uncontrollably as countless beads of sweat formed upon her face, and he had to wrap an arm around her waist to keep her from crumpling into a pitiful heap. Still, having her in such a weak state had its advantages. She hadn't the strength nor courage to speak a word of disapproval, or to make a move to wrench herself away from him. All she could do was remain silent and try to control her fear while Jushiro handled the situation that couldn't have been more delicate than it already was.

"Yes, Master." He nodded firmly, trying hard to loosen up his rigid stature. "I apologize for not informing you earlier, but, as you know, the weeks before have been rather hectic for Murakami-san a-"

"_Hectic_?" Kenpachi scoffed through his laughter. "Ye've been attacked by some unknown asswipe, saw yer bitch get thrown into jail, have her busted out by that fuckin' lunatic, and now all ye gotta say is it's been a fuckin' 'hectic' week? Ye've got one hell of a sense 'er humour, Ukitake! I'm startin' t'actually like ye!"

"Who are you calling a 'lunatic'?" Mayuri intervened, marching up to his arch-nemesis with his zanpakuto thrust out like a rod. "The only madman around these parts is _you_, Zaraki. You are the one who has the nerve to barge in here and deny responsibility over your own subordinate, leaving her to suffer at the hands of the Captain-Commander when, in fact, she has done nothing even remotely wrong. And you call yourself a shinigami worthy of upholding the seat of captaincy!"

"Ye got it _backwards_, Kurotsuchi," Kenpachi drawled, nudging the blade of the zanpakuto out of his face. "Like I said, ye're the fuckin' lunatic 'round these parts. Get that through yer thick head already, will ye? Or does that weird ice cream cone hat make it hard for the facts t'go through?"

At the man's words, Mayuri's rage reached its boiling point, and, without a second thought, he launched himself at Kenpachi. With a sadistic grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, Kenpachi, not bothering to dodge the deadly swing, shot out a bare hand and grasped hold of the blade. Both their spiritual pressures flared once again, with Mayuri's struggling to compete with the other's much larger, more aggressive one. He only managed to leave a deep cut in Kenpachi's palm, and was about to give in to the temptation of sawing his hand in half when the sound of Yamamoto's staff hitting the floor reverberated throughout the room.

Both men froze in place, eyes fixated onto one another, expressing unreservedly countless threats of gruesome torture and agonizing death. Despite the definite warning from their superior, Kenpachi's smirk only grew wider as his grip on Mayuri's zanpakuto tightened. The notion of having gotten on Yamamoto's nerves excited him to his core, and, at the back of his mind, he wondered whether or not the old man would take it out on him. Admittedly, a fight with him would be worth a hundred fights with Princess Kuchiki.

"Are ye tryin' t'tell me that _ye're_ the _perfect _role model for a captain, eh Kurotsuchi?" Kenpachi hissed through his teeth, tugging Mayuri closer by his blade. "Remember those bastards ye blew up way back when? They were yer division mates, weren't they? Ye were the one who implanted those fucked up bombs into 'em, weren't ye? And ye blew 'em up and killed 'em." Kenpachi spat the last two words as if they were the most disgusting things he'd ever uttered, replacing his grin with a scowl. "That ain't what a captain s'pposed t'do. Ye're the one who's got no fuckin' right t'be a fuckin' captain Kurotsuchi, 'cause ye don't even know the basics, and that makes ye a perfect dumbfuck."

"Pre-preposterous!" Mayuri couldn't help but splutter, putting as much pressure as he could on Kenpachi's hand, but it was no use. His spiritual pressure was too massive and violent in nature. Mayuri could only be thankful that his own energy was enough to prevent himself from being reduced to a smothered heap. "You... you illiterate-"

"Stand down!" Yamamoto's withered yet potent voice rang out, shooting through the hall towards the two captains. His own spiritual pressure gave off a spike, a sign that he was thoroughly irritated with the antics of his subordinates.

His energy, clear and true, traveled through Izumi's system, twisting and corrupting her mind until she had no clue as to where she was. The feeling was gone from her legs, and her knees suddenly gave out. Before she could crumple into a heap, Jushiro quickly grabbed her around the waist and held her up, planting himself between her and Yamamoto as if this action would quell the overbearing fear that was welling up fast inside her.

Kenpachi let a grin spread from ear to ear and released Mayuri's blade, holding up his hands with palms facing Yamamoto. Following his own destructive nature, he wasn't quite sorry to have incurred the wrath of the Captain-Commander. He had to admit that it was actually entertaining to watch the old man fret over matters, whether it pertained to Soul Society's overall security or the bizarre behaviour of some of the Seireitei's divisions.

Looking down at Mayuri, who was still staring at him through wide golden eyes with beads of sweat decorating his painted brow, Kenpachi gestured at Yamamoto with a curt nod.

"Ye heard the old man. Stand down."

Mayuri glared at the larger man, but finally he lowered his blade and turned on his heel, haori billowing about his figure as he did so, and marched over to stand by Jushiro. That induced a rather puzzling thought in Kenpachi, and his eye widened in the slightest.

"Since when have ye guys been so damned close?" he demanded, popping a bone in his neck.

"Stay out of business that do not concern you, Zaraki," Mayuri snapped, disentangling the bandages around his bloody stump that had gone loose. He let them fall to the floor, staining the pristine wood with gore.

A grin that Mayuri nor Jushiro liked stretched across Kenpachi's face. "Are ye guys gay 'er somethin'?"

Jushiro had to grab Mayuri and stop him before he started yet another scuffle. For one thing, they didn't have time for such trivial matters, and such an action would only encourage Kenpachi to further mock the scientist. That would definitely result in something much worse, and Jushiro wished, more than anything, to avoid any unnecessary bloodshed.

Blood had been spilled enough.

"Oh, right," Kenpachi folded his arms across his chest, tilting his head to the side with a wide sneer, "Ukitake can't be gay since he's marryin' that good-for-nothin' asswipe. What the fuck are ye doin' that for, huh? She ain't nothin' but a half-assed pansy. Ye should know better than to pick someone like that outta the bunch since ye're such a smartass, Ukitake."

The frown that overcame Jushiro made Kenpachi snicker, his face twisted into a nasty smirk that caused Izumi to shrink back, swallowing a lump that had suddenly formed in her throat. Jushiro reached behind him, and, grasping a handful of her hospital gown, pulled her towards him for reassurance, but his eyes never left Yamamoto. If he were to let his guard down for just a moment, the old man would immediately realize what was wrong.

Jushiro couldn't risk his well-being, nor Izumi's, any longer. Too much was at stake.

The white-haired captain was about to open his mouth to voice his confirmation on the matter when Soi Fon finally snapped out of her own puzzlement and stepped forward. The expression plastered to her face was not the least bit friendly, and Jushiro was certain that she would have nothing good to say for the remainder of the audience with Yamamoto.

"Captain Ukitake is protecting the perpetrator and staining the sanctity of marriage to secure her release from prison. Nothing more!"

Her words easily threw Jushiro off guard while Kenpachi let out another disbelieving scoff. Fortunately, the terror of the Eleventh had the sense to hold his tongue as Jushiro fought hard to control his raging emotions. He had figured a protest was to be voiced, but he hadn't predicted Soi Fon to be as blunt as this. Furthermore, even if that protest wasn't in favour of his decision, he still had Kenpachi there as a man who could tell a white lie to keep a friend out of the tight spot...

But who knew he would turn on the both of them the instant the conference had begun? Jushiro hadn't predicted _that_, not even in his wildest dreams. Nonetheless, Kenpachi was still there, and Jushiro could do nothing but watch as the events continued to play out against him and, especially, Izumi.

"That explains it," Kenpachi huffed, as if he had read Jushiro's mind and was now trying to make the odds against him even higher. "But what I don't get is who the hell attacked you, Ukitake? And what's up with that asswipe being thrown into prison and shit? What's up with Kurotsuchi actin' like she's one o' his weird-as-fuck specimens?"

"That is because she _is_, you fool," Mayuri barked, brandishing his zanpakuto to silence the man, wrenching away when Jushiro rested a hand on his arm to stop him once again.

"I promise you, Master, that there is no possibility for me to commit such a fraud," said Jushiro, tightening his grip on Izumi's gown as she clutched his elbow for much needed comfort. He couldn't see her face, but he knew that she was as nervous as he was. Maybe even more, seeing how she knew nothing of what his motives were. He felt guilty for keeping her in the dark, but he had to for the sake of their honour and, to a serious extent, their lives. "What Captain Soi Fon is saying is, pardon my language, pure heresy. With all due respect, Captain, you know nothing of what I feel for Murakami-san, and I understand that for me to announce this at such an inauspicious time is rather inconsiderate."

He stepped to the side, allowing Yamamoto to set his gaze upon Izumi, switching his grip to her hand. "But our engagement justifies one of the laws of the Seireitei. No one has the right to intervene in the matters of the noble families. That, coupled with the fact that Murakami-san has been wrongly accused, proves her illegibility for sentencing."

"Lies!" Soi Fon cried out, storming forward, her haori flashing about behind her. "Captain-Commander, what Captain Ukitake is saying is nothing more than sheer nonsense! I admit that the laws are true, but what of his wounds? How did he receive them? What could have left him in such a state in the middle of the streets, surrounded by broken tiles and covered in debris?"

"I've told you previously, Captain Soi Fon," Jushiro replied, voice low as he tried to hold in the sudden urge to just pull Izumi out of the room, "I had been engaging in a training session with my zanpakuto spirits, and I lost my concentration. Therefore, near-fatal injuries were inevitable. Captain," he said sternly just as she was about to interrupt, "I should think that it is rather impossible for a shinigami of Izumi's abilities to render myself helpless. Wouldn't you agree?"

Jushiro's words instantly silenced Soi Fon, and all she could do was bite her bottom lip and glare at him, trying hard to pierce through him with her vixen-like eyes. Usually, she could foretell what her victims would do next, even what they were thinking, but with Jushiro, it was useless to even try.

Gathering his courage, Jushiro finally fixed his gaze upon Yamamoto, and the old man could see the definite answer burning within the depths of his eyes that, despite being intelligent, wise and weathered with age, still reflected the soul of a child.

"The wedding is set to be held on the first of next month, being the first day of autumn," Jushiro said as he turned his back on his own master and led Izumi out of the office.

Clearly, there was nothing left there to change his mind or turn back time.

xxx

Peeking out from around a corner, Kiyone and Sentaro could only watch as their captain pulled his partner through the corridor. The moment Jushiro had returned to the barracks, the division members had all surrounded him, plaguing him with questions, but all he did was push through without saying a word. Following his gentle nature, he flashed a smile to them and kindly told them to resume training.

Kiyone had ran up to him, much like the others, and asked about the audience with Yamamoto, as well as whether Kurotsuchi had been taken into custody, but all Jushiro did was wave her away. Seeing a tad too late that he was rather preoccupied, Kiyone fell back and, along with Sentaro, trailed quietly behind him to feed their growing curiosity. They knew that it wasn't quite suitable for Third Seats to be prying into their captains' business, but, by all the gods, they couldn't help it.

It was only when Jushiro slammed the door shut behind him, a very rare occurrence seeing how he generally treated everything with care, that Kiyone and Sentaro stopped, turning instead towards eavesdropping.

On the other side of the door, in the very office of the captain, Izumi finally crumpled to the floor, falling onto her hands and knees. She was numb to the pain that shot through her joints. Two hours of enduring a meeting wherein she was forced to experience flaring spiritual pressures from captains had taken their toll on her, and the effects still lasted even after the long, stumbling walk back to the barracks.

Jushiro quickly poured a cup of cold tea and knelt down to pass it to her, but she knocked it out of his hand, sending it crashing to the floor. The shattering of china pierced the uncomfortable silence, followed by a pitiful wheeze from Izumi that was reminiscent of a toad being stepped on.

"Izumi-"

"Damn you, Ukitake!" She grasped onto the edge of the desk and pulled herself to her feet. Her knees shook uncontrollably, but she forced herself to stand and glared at him through tousled hair. "Fuck you! What the hell are you trying to prove this time? Lying to Zaraki, lying to Kurotsuchi and Soi Fon, and even the Captain-Commander! What are you, _insane_?"

Jushiro reached out to steady her, but she smacked his hands away, albeit weakly. "Izumi, please listen to me. I had no choice-"

"'No choice'? _Really_?" She stumbled around the desk so that it was between her and Jushiro. "You had no choice so you went on to tell them that we're _engaged_?" She pointed at him square in his face, seething. "I'm not gonna marry _you_! No way in fucking hell! I'm _already _married! Look! I have a ring to pro-"

She was cut off as Jushiro grabbed hold of her wrist. Her efforts of pulling away were in vain as his grip was solid, and, despite his illness, he was strong enough to pin her hands to the desk. She clenched her fists tight, nails digging painfully into palms, fury boiling within her, and was about to scream curses and threats at the man when he took her face in his own two hands.

"Listen, Izumi, _listen_!" Being weighed down with the burden of having to put with the other captains' protests, as well as Izumi's own obnoxious tendency to jump straight to conclusions, Jushiro was just about ready to snap. For a moment, he actually contemplated slapping her across the face, as he had done days ago when she rudely mentioned Kaien, to bring her back to her senses.

To his relief, she still had the tact to cease her shouting and focus on him. Her eyes were wide, overflowing with anxiety and fear, much like Jushiro's own inner turmoil, although he never showed it. The fingers that held her face tightened instinctively, but it only lasted for a moment before he softened his gaze.

"I had no choice. I had to, for the sake of keeping you out of prison... Marrying into a noble family is the only way to save you from being branded as a traitor." Absently, he brushed the hair out of her eyes and smoothed it down. "I promised I'd secure your release. You should know by now that, no matter what, I always keep my word."

As Jushiro let a tired smile that reflected the trials both of them had endured all these years tug at the corners of his lips, Izumi couldn't help but find it rather sacrilegious that she was going to marry the one man she had nearly killed.

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**Beta-read by: **Laerkstrein


	16. Distant Skies

**A/N: **Jinbei is a set consisting of a top and matching shorts worn by men, women and children. The top resembles a short-sleeved or sleeveless jacket that falls to the hips. It ties closed both inside and outside the jacket.

_As Jushiro let a tired smile that reflected the trials both of them had endured all these years tug at the corners of his lips, Izumi couldn't help but find it rather sacrilegious that she was going to marry the one man she had nearly killed._

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Chapter 16: Distant Skies

The captain of the Fourth Division was a beast.

She wasn't much of a monster physically, even less within her mindset, but Unohana was as much a beast to the Eleventh Division as Zaraki was to the Fourth. Being one of the earliest shinigami, as well as having been taught by the Captain-Commander himself, she was a force to be reckoned with. Equipped with spiritual pressure that so easily dwarfed that of those around her, she took advantage of her standing to have patients obey her orders. Truth be told, even without her enormous spiritual energy, no one would dare disobey a captain, especially one with a kind smile and gentle eyes that pierced one's soul.

Despite not being of the Eleventh as of yet, Izumi was beginning to feel the effects of being in the presence of the doctor. She had met Unohana just once before whilst in the hospital, which had been just a few days earlier: Just before she had been thrown into jail, and that one experience hadn't left a rather pleasant taste in her mouth.

It seemed very much like Unohana had the power to see into one's mind, delving deeper and deeper until she found the precious little chest of secrets that had been stashed away. She appeared to be an expert at digging skeletons out of others' closets. Izumi was certain that, following her first meeting with the captain, Unohana had known about _her _skeletons before she even found out herself.

For instance, Unohana had sent a rather accusing look at Izumi the moment she settled her eyes on her. That one stare, though expertly hidden behind a façade of kindred souls, had sent shivers up Izumi's spine. It had been a warning, but she hadn't known of what till the truth finally came to light in all its forms.

It was difficult to believe that Izumi was the one responsible for Jushiro's wounds, his being admitted into the hospital in a condition bordering on fatal. If it were to be written as a fairy tale or some perverse story of how a captain's inferior had managed to nearly tear apart his body, then it would be a rather entertaining read, though filled to the brim with blasphemy.

The afternoon after the fateful meeting with Yamamoto had been rather hectic. For one thing, Izumi still couldn't come to terms with herself, or with Jushiro, for that matter. His announcement of their being set to be wed on the first of autumn, less than a month from the present, couldn't at all be absorbed into her reality. It was mad, and Izumi, despite feeling a lot more like a madman since the day she stepped out of her jail cell, broken out by Kurotsuchi, could only push it away and brand it as being a terrible joke.

Unfortunately, it wasn't.

Jushiro knew how to joke, but the matter of matrimony was taken very seriously within the Seireitei, especially by the noble families. There was no way possible that he was pulling her leg about this, and so Izumi, after smashing her head against the wall and receiving a large, angry bump in return, finally settled down with a cold cup of tea to calm her nerves.

Jushiro had insisted on taking her back to the family manor. Kiyone and Sentaro, whom he had found out was eavesdropping all throughout their conversation, were told to take an oath to leave whatever they had heard in the captain's office. Nothing of that unpleasant talk filled with curses and terrible revelations should be uttered outside the walls of the Thirteenth Division, otherwise the situation would increase in its complexity. It was complicated enough without the marriage, and Jushiro had never, not even in his wildest dreams, expected it to come this far.

Once they arrived at the manor, following a long walk through the Seireitei that was filled with nothing but absurd silence, Jushiro had Haruko, the servant girl, attend to Izumi. Hot water was prepared, old clothes were laid out for her, food was cooked with heavy emphasis on greens and meat. Jushiro was determined on fattening her up. Spending days in the Nest of Maggots had transformed her into nothing more than a walking zombie, severely lacking in essential nutrition.

In the bath Izumi mused over what had occurred and what was to come. The future, she concluded, held not much promise for her. Seeing that she was to be bound to a noble family, particularly to a friend she had known for ages, it wasn't very unreasonable to say that she hadn't much of a future anymore.

Or was it?

Izumi wasn't sure, for she wasn't one for thinking a ways into the future. She was an individual who lived for the moment, doing things without much thought for what the consequences would turn out to be. That trait, in and of itself, often caused her to be further behind her peers. The constant struggle she had to endure during the Academy days was, frankly speaking, hell. It had been the cause of her steady descent down the food chain, and now she was at the very bottom with power enough to only look up to her superiors with sealed lips, unable to even make a move to change anything.

Speaking of superiors, Izumi hadn't been very surprised when Zaraki had denied responsibility over her. Nobody would want to take part in a crisis involving someone who had just harassed one's daughter where the guardian would be risking their standing or, quite possibly, lives to protect said someone.

In this case, Zaraki would rather Izumi die and rot in hell than have her in his division as a slave.

The Eleventh Division hadn't sounded so welcoming at the beginning, and conditions just plunged to rock bottom. Izumi wasn't looking forward, not even in the least bit, to returning to work. She didn't know whether Zaraki would even accept her, given how seemingly protective he was over the brat.

Too much mulling over questions whose answers eluded her, Izumi finally climbed out of the tub with nothing more than speculations. After changing into one of the floral jinbei belonging to Jushiro's late sister, she went on to have a late lunch while Jushiro disappeared into his garden. No doubt to have some time to himself and ponder over the crisis. Thankfully, there were no servants in the dining hall, and Izumi was able to eat in peace.

The Nest had robbed her of flesh, and the constant nagging of her spiritual pressure had been more than irritating whilst in the cell. Her system had been asking, _begging_, for food which she didn't have. She had even contemplated smashing through the wall and hightailing it out of there to find something to eat. So with quite a feast spread out before her, one that no commoner like her could ever dream of having daily, she devoured it.

After, with a fulfilled belly, Izumi went in search of Jushiro. He stood on the bridge over the pond, lost in the wonders of koi below his feet. They swam with tails following gracefully behind them, moving almost lazily through water as if they had all the time in the world. In truth, they did. Unlike shinigami, koi had no fears, didn't have to prepare every day in case a sudden hollow-hunting mission would require their presence.

Izumi stood a ways from Jushiro, watched him as he gazed at the koi, unable to find it within herself to disturb his newfound peace of mind. She wanted him to have that peace of which he deserved. Worn and weathered, he had gone through much trouble. But still, even a shinigami with a heart of steel would give into pressure when confronted with multiple decisions and a life-changing course.

As she let her eyes wander over him, trace the slight frown on his face, the knitting of his brows weathered with life's sinister challenges, Izumi felt guilt welling up inside her. Guilt and helplessness, for she indeed had no clue as to what really happened to her, what caused her to commit such an act of betrayal – it was nauseating.

But before she could even delve into her questions once again, Haruko came running into the garden, calling her master's name. Jushiro looked up, and during that split second in which their eyes met, Izumi managed to catch the exhaustion that had spread about and glazed his green eyes over. Their natural lustre had faded away only to be replaced with pressure. She couldn't bear the look of it, and so she instantly switched her stare to Haruko.

The message relayed by the servant held not much to spur Izumi's interest, not until she mentioned that Unohana was asking for her. Immediately, Jushiro had led Izumi out into the streets, and off they trailed towards the Fourth Division upon Unohana's "summons."

That was what led up to Izumi's being in the office of Captain Unohana at that very moment, head bent so that she didn't have to look the woman in the eye. Being reduced to a shivering heap was enough embarrassment and, coupled with the past few hours spent in the meeting with Yamamoto and being looked down on by Zaraki, the shame was enough to last about two lifetimes.

The only comfort that kept her from losing her mind was Jushiro's warm hand encompassing hers, grip firm and steadfast. It was a silent reminder to her that he was still by her side, still forgiving despite what had happened. But, being the more cynical one out of the pair, Izumi had her doubts, causing her to mentally push all his quiet support away. She knew she was wrong to do so, seeing as Jushiro really had nothing else stashed up his sleeve – unlike Kurotsuchi – and for that she couldn't stop cursing herself.

"Murakami Izumi, is that correct?" Unohana said in her voice as smooth as silk, and it sent shivers running up Izumi's spine once again. "I apologize if this is rather direct, but that isn't your maiden name, is it?"

Izumi swallowed and shook her head. The only catch in Jushiro's plan was that she still held Saito's surname, and the time after his death was too short to even establish a new relationship.

"It isn't, Retsu," said Jushiro, coming to Izumi's rescue just in time, as Unohana's aura was starting to settle on her and make her sweat. "Unfortunately, she hadn't the time to change her surname to her own, so she's retaining her late husband's for now."

"I see." Her answer was polite, but curt as she rose to her feet. She took a pair of fresh rubber gloves from a drawer and slipped them on, the smacking noises causing Izumi to flinch. "Do you remember the events leading up to your attack on Jushiro, Murakami-san?"

"No." Again, that knife of guilt stabbed her in the chest as Izumi shook her head.

"Nothing at all?" There was a medical kit on the desk which she opened and looked through, coming up with a syringe and a little glass container filled with translucent liquid.

"Nothing."

Unohana filled the syringe with liquid, delicate fingers squeezing the pump with accurate force. "Yours is a severe case of mental disorder, but with such scant resources, I'm unable to pinpoint exactly what it is. Therefore," she turned to Izumi, fixed her eyes on her, and Izumi couldn't look away no matter how much she wanted to, "I cannot prescribe you the precise drugs needed. All I can do now is inject a general antipsychotic into your system to calm your senses."

"A what?"

"It is also known as a tranquilizing psychiatric medication used to manage psychosis, particularly bipolar disorder, which is an illness that may be what you're suffering from."

The words she used, especially "suffering", caused a scowl to overcome Izumi. She didn't like the idea of being in a state where she was seen as a victim.

"If you would be so kind as to lie down," Unohana gestured to the bed across the room, "I will begin the procedure shortly."

"How long does it take?"

Unohana looked down at her, thumb rubbing the syringe's pump almost lovingly. Izumi swallowed, the sight having printed itself into her mind. For reasons unknown, it reminded her too much of Kurotsuchi and his detached arm.

"It will only take a few minutes," said Unohana, and returned to looking through her medical kit.

"Go on, I'll be right here," Jushiro murmured, giving her hand a squeeze. All she could do was nod meekly in return, and rose to her feet.

"Be sure to lie on your stomach," said Unohana, not looking up from the piece of cotton in her hand. Izumi nodded and, obeying her order, climbed onto the bed and lay with the side of her face pressed into the hard mattress. Sometimes she wondered how they could supply patients, sick and fragile, with beds as hard as stale bread.

Unohana approached the bed, syringe in one hand and a piece of damp cotton in the other. Just when Izumi was about to close her eyes and let the doctor carry out her job, the woman spoke.

"Take off your lower clothing."

Izumi sat up in one swift motion, fingers gripping her shorts in protest. "_What_?"

Unohana merely blinked at her, and the smile that was sent her way was both kind and unsettling. "I have to inject the drug into you through your rear, so please cooperate and lower your shorts."

With pursed lips, Izumi looked over Unohana's shoulder at Jushiro, who flashed a reassuring smile despite his obvious discomfort. Izumi made no move in response, and Unohana, knowing what she wanted as she herself was a woman, turned her head to look at her former schoolmate.

"You can trust me not to look, Retsu." Jushiro forced a small laugh, a slight shade of pink spreading across his face. When he had turned away and fixated his attention to the plain walls of the office, Izumi rubbed the back of her head in hesitation. But the expression on Unohana's face, the smile that held kindness laced with deadly authority, forced her to bow down.

Biting her lower lip, she let the shorts fall to the floor and stepped out of them. All that was left of "lower clothing" was her underpants, and there was no way in hell was she ever letting it loose. She didn't care if Unohana were to glare at her with eyes that burned with the flame of a thousand zanpakuto, she wasn't going to give in.

With a sulk, Izumi lay back down, using her forearms as a pillow. With the imposing syringe, Unohana bent over. Izumi gave a start when she felt her underwear being tugged and pulled down, leaving her rear end bare. The air, though warm and stuffy, chilled her skin and caused the short hairs to stand on end.

But that wasn't the end of it.

Just when Izumi was about to relax, a sudden chill pierced through her. She cried out, twisting around, but Unohana held her down with her free hand. The other was pressing the damp cotton to her skin, just above her buttocks.

"I'm applying anaesthetic to ensure that you won't feel any pain," Unohana explained. Izumi pursed her lips and swallowed, the sudden panic that had struck her slowly dissolving into thin air. The icy bitterness was soon gone, and Unohana went over to the desk to drop the used cotton into a rubbish bin. "It will take a moment for the numbness to settle, so we'll have to wait for a bit."

Izumi nodded, though Unohana didn't see it.

"What do you remember of the evening Murakami-san attacked you, Jushiro?" Unohana sat down in her armchair and began to scan through paperwork.

"We were talking over a cup of tea in her kitchen," Jushiro replied. "I brought over a box of Kuchiki's tea leaves to have Izumi try them. She drinks a lot, so I thought that maybe, with the help of some tea, she would eventually abandon alcohol."

"Is that so?" Unohana took out a notepad and wrote something in it. "You mentioned a late husband. Would you mind telling me what happened to him? When was his passing?"

At that, Izumi turned her head away to stare at the wall.

"Murakami-san passed away just recently, in the latest hollow-hunting mission in the Rukon," Jushiro answered, all the more aware of Izumi's raging sentiments. He was all too aware of the pain that came with the sudden death of a loved one.

Unohana's hand never stopped its movement, gracefully flicking the brush back and forth over paper to create fast yet neat strokes of kanji.

"He is of the Eleventh Division, correct?"

"Yes, that's right."

"I suspect his body was never found, as I certainly did not see record of it in the past week. Perhaps he was eaten by hollows or dragged down a nest."

Izumi twitched, teeth grinding as she cursed the shit gods with every colourful phrase she could remember. _Damned woman…_

At that moment, as if Unohana had read her mind, she rose to her feet and picked up the syringe that had been lying in wait for the past few minutes. She tested it to make sure that it worked, and crossed the room to where Izumi lay. With a finger she prodded the spot where she had applied the anaesthetic.

"I suppose it should be numb by now."

"Yes, it is," Izumi muttered bitterly. She wasn't used to having another person laying their hands on her, save for her late husband, and she was thankful for the numbness. She didn't like the idea of feeling another woman's fingers poking her. The thought made her want to jump away from Unohana, but with all her willpower, she remained where she was for fear of incurring her wrath. Though it would undoubtedly be hidden behind a mask, she knew that the captain's quiet anger would be equal, or maybe even worse, to Zaraki's.

"I will now inject the drug into you. There won't be any pain." Unohana rubbed the pump with her thumb, and pressed the needle to Izumi's skin. Almost as soon as it had started, it was over, and Unohana took a step back with an empty syringe in hand. Izumi blinked at her in puzzlement, unbelieving at how fast the "procedure" was, and how painless. This was many times better than being in Kurotsuchi's lab that had his bloodstains on the floor, complete with beeping machines that could drive one out of his mind.

"That wasn't so bad now, was it?" Jushiro reached out to take her hand once she had her clothes secured to her.

She gave a grunt in response and sat down carefully, paranoid as to what would happen to her bottom if she were to be rough with it. A disturbing image of a torn, bloody rear end formed inside her mind, and she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment to erase it.

Unohana opened a cupboard that hung on the wall behind her desk. It was filled with rows of containers, big and small, labelled with scientific names that Izumi couldn't read, decipher or even pronounce. She sat staring up at them in awe, wondering where the Fourth Division received them from, while Unohana scanned through the labels. A moment later she selected a white, medium-sized container and placed it on the desk. She took out two transparent packets and filled them with pills reminiscent of green peas. Once they were full with about thirty capsules per packet, she kept the container and handed them over to Izumi.

"These are antipsychotic drugs which you need to take at least three times a day, preferably one after each meal," said Unohana. "You must make sure that you eat before you consume a tablet, or it will lower its effect and may cause gastric pains."

"Why do I need to take drugs?" Izumi took a packet in hand and examined the green pills. "What about the injection? What was that for?"

"The injection covers a long term, but to be certain that the disorder doesn't strike again, or to lessen the possibilities, it is necessary for you to start consuming antipsychotics." Unohana tilted her head to the side with a smile that, to Izumi, was the most elegant form of force. "We wouldn't want anything to happen again, would we?"

"N-no…Captain…" Izumi clutched the packets tightly and rose to her feet.

"Will that be all, Retsu?" Jushiro stood as well. Unohana leaned back in her chair and intertwined her fingers, taking the form of a queen reclining as the sun's orange glares pierced through translucent curtains.

"Be certain to watch her, Jushiro." Unohana nodded, letting her eyelids drift to a close. "And yes, that is all."

Jushiro only managed to thank her and bid a farewell before Izumi pulled him out of the office. When they were out in the streets of the Seireitei, she heaved a big sigh of relief and he watched with a small frown as she slapped herself on the forehead.

"You worry too much, Izumi."

"I just got stabbed in the ass," she snapped and glared at the two packets of medicine. "And now, I'm on drugs when I'm not even _sick_."

"You heard what Captain Unohana said." Jushiro took the packets from her and stashed it away in his sleeve before she could spill their contents. "Once she knows what is wrong, she'll be able to find a proper cure for you. She is the best doctor the Seireitei has, so you really shouldn't fret."

_But the problem is… I'm not sick! _

Izumi wanted to scream that in both his and Unohana's face. It was inappropriate for someone to be taking medicine when they weren't even ill. Unohana may have been right about Izumi suffering from a mental disorder, given the facts, but still she felt fine. At the back of her mind, she wondered whether these so-called antipsychotics really worked.

"Izumi."

At the sound of her name, Izumi turned to face Jushiro, and was blinded by an overwhelming amount of light. She blinked a few times and once she was used to it, she followed Jushiro's finger that was pointing towards the horizon.

Different shades of orange filled the sky, darkening towards the circle of fire that was lowering itself behind mountains in the distance. Birds flocked to the sun, basking in the last of light before night descended. Echoes of their voices were carried by the wind, coming to settle on Izumi's ears.

"Isn't it beautiful?" Jushiro murmured, breaking the silence. A silence that, surprisingly, held more peace than discomfort or anxiety. It hadn't occurred for quite some time now, even during the period where he was in his garden, gazing at the koi. Usually, a while in the garden could lift burden off his shoulders, but given the twists and turns of events that unfolded at a pace he had to struggle to keep up with, it hadn't worked.

Izumi could only nod, transfixed by the sight before her. During her younger days in the Rukon, she used to watch the sunset, close her eyes and feel the heat upon her face. Beside her Saito would be with an arm around her, a bottle of sake in hand. Those were the days when everything was okay. But growing up, no matter how fun it had seemed during one's youth, was harder than it sounded.

Izumi swallowed the lump that had suddenly lodged itself in her throat and met Jushiro's eyes. They were gentle, gazing at her with platonic warmth that triggered the same affections within her.

"That sunset proves that, no matter how bad life may turn out to be, there's always something good to look forward to." He turned back to the horizon, a smile creeping up his face. "Always remember, Izumi, that an ugly day ends with the beauty of the setting sun. It's a natural cause, as the gods had created a day to start with the rising sun, and to end upon its setting. After, the moon will accompany you, watch over you until the next sunrise assures in another morning." Jushiro let out a light-hearted chuckle, feeling a small burden being lifted off his shoulders. "You must learn to see beauty in everything, and only then will you find your life worth living."

It took a short while for his words to sink in. Once they did, Izumi leaned towards him, rested her forehead on his shoulder. She felt the sharp, familiar pricking behind her eyes, and it took quite an amount of effort to control herself. His words struck a chord in her, enough to bring out gratitude of a significant magnitude to crash over her like a wave unto the beach.

Jushiro, though taken by surprise, smiled softly and returned his gaze to the darkening horizon.

"Thanks…" Izumi managed to mutter through clenched teeth, and that was when she realized her tight, trembling vice-grip around his hand.

* * *

**Beta-read by: **Laerkstrein


	17. Lost and Found

Whoa, it's been a damn month since I updated this thing. Figures, since I've been brain dead lately - much thanks to cranking out twenty drabbles each day between work. Must have exhausted my plot machine or something.

Anyway, should I include a summary of each chapter so that y'all would know what you're getting into?

* * *

Chapter 17: Lost and Found

As the sun settled behind mountains in the west, casting a glow of twilight over the Seireitei, a couple walked through the streets, side by side. Though weathered and exhausted, worn out from the day's events, they still managed to maintain their pace, never falling back. With each step they took, it seemed that they were walking away from the stench of medicine that plagued the Fourth Division, as well as the blood that splattered the walls and floors of Kurotsuchi's lab, the filthy cells of the Nest of Maggots and the beautiful scenery spread out below the First Division's balcony where that fateful meeting had taken place.

The meeting in which one captain, hastily and very much unexpectedly, had proclaimed his engagement to a widow.

Izumi stole a glance over at Jushiro, managing a quick examination of the side of his face. It was hard to see his concern, worries sprouting from within his division walls heaped upon their very own personal crisis, but she knew that they were there. She was sure of her capabilities to pinpoint whether or not he was disturbed or suffering from a mental intervention of peace.

For years, Izumi had known him, and it was, in truth, all thanks to one Captain Kyoraku Shunsui. A lady's man he may have been, but her meeting with Jushiro was only possible given his… well, _popular _adult novels. To say the least, Kyoraku didn't quite have the talent for prose. He was a learned man without skill for weaving a tale capable of captivating one's mind.

Izumi was only attracted to his purple prose because of her own ignorance in the ways of literature. The moment she opened a novel by Kyoraku – one out of a few stacks lining every bookshop in the Seireitei and the first twenty districts of the Rukon – she was engrossed in his writing. The sides of her lips would curl up in a rather disturbing smirk whenever a certain "scene" appeared – and that was often given how many "scenes" Kyoraku had stashed up each page.

And that was the start of Izumi's rabid excitement over a newly published book. The first thing she would do when she heard the news would rush to the store, snatch up said novel and run out with her nose buried within the pages, oblivious to the shopkeeper who counted money that was paid more than necessary, a satisfied grin plastered to his face. During that whole day, she would do nothing but sit at home and read, gaping in awe that only an idiot could muster up, staring at pages and pages of badly written prose.

But of course, only those without taste in literature would do such a thing. At least Saito had some taste – if any – considering how he avoided those novels of his wife's. There was many a time that he had told Izumi off for owning such things, branding her a pervert even worse than himself. He wasn't much of one, seeing as how he never took to her peculiar interests, so the comparison was rather out of the question. All Izumi would do was bury her nose in deeper, ignoring him save whenever he walked up to her stark naked.

That, in and of itself, was another sign that Izumi had filthy eyes and a dirty brain.

How Izumi came to know Jushiro was quite simple, really. Years ago, just a short while after Izumi and Saito had settled in their new home, Captain Kyoraku – being the superfluous and eccentric half of the duo – decided to hold a press conference for his fans. It wasn't quite surprising when only a handful showed up, and most of them were men notorious for being in a constant state of tipsiness, much like Kyoraku himself. It was no wonder that they all got along.

Izumi was left out however, being the one in the background overshadowed by men who tried entertaining Kyoraku to gain respect and, possibly, a treat to the finest tea house whose fee cost a man his one month's salary.

Jushiro had been there, dragged along by his best friend to keep a lookout for Nanao who was desperately trying to find her captain. It took a while for her to succeed as news of the gathering was spread by one Yamada Hanataro who took to the sewers for transport. Kyoraku was indeed his own captain's friend, so it was only natural for him to comply – though when he told Unohana later on, she hadn't appeared to fully agree with him. Thankfully, Jushiro had explained everything to her before she could doom the Tenth Seat to a month-long duty of treating Eleventh Division members. It was bad enough that the lieutenant had a penchant for nicknames as well as a pair of itchy hands, but the captain himself was a behemoth who reduced Hanataro to a useless heap from a mile away without even realizing it.

Izumi let out a small chuckle at the thought, amused at the young man whom Saito used to talk about. Surprisingly, he was rather fond of Hanataro. Like most of the members who had used to serve Captain Kiganjo, he hadn't much prejudice towards the Fourth Division and so, it was safe to say that he had taken quite a liking to Hanataro. Always, after a terrible beating that forced him into the hospital, he would ask for Hanataro's treatment. If Izumi hadn't known any better, she would have suspected her own husband of having a little affair with the Tenth Seat.

Feeling Jushiro's gaze settle upon her, Izumi looked up. His eyes spoke much of curiosity, his smile of slight amusement and much relief. "Mind telling me what it is that's so funny?"

"Hanataro and Saito," she said without much thought, kicking a stray stone off to the side, "and how we met."

"I'm glad that you've finally found your bearings," he said, something akin to contentment lacing through his tone. "But, unless you were to say that coughing up blood is funny, I don't see anything amusing about our first meeting."

"It's thanks to your sickness that we ever got the chance to meet at all! Coughing up blood does kill the mood, but that had been an opening. If you didn't have such an illness, I wouldn't be walking through the streets with you right now."

"I've told you that in every bad there is some good, haven't I?" Jushiro cocked a knowing eyebrow. "You need to listen to me more often."

Izumi gave a scoff, scratched the side of her cheek in thought. It had been years, but still she remembered it as if it had just happened yesterday. Jushiro, standing there with his back against the wall, watching his best friend and looking out for his Nanao-chan, just in case she were to come along and crash the press conference. Izumi hadn't really noticed him since he had been so quiet, observing from a distance, as well as her being preoccupied with admiring her literary idol. It wasn't until Jushiro burst out in a sudden fit of coughing strong enough to make him bend over and splatter blood all over the polished wooden floor.

Weathered from the days spent in the districts of the Rukon, as well as having a rather violent Eleventh Division member as a husband, Izumi had been quite accustomed to the sight of blood. Though she had never seen such an illness before, she was willing to learn more about it. To lessen the pain in his throat – and hopefully quell the sudden attacks – she had recommended him a variety of herbal soups which she ended up brewing for him every morning and evening. She made constant trips to the chemist to ask for advice, and kept brewing soup despite how the man had mentioned Jushiro's illness was incurable.

She wasn't sure whether she was capable of finding a cure for it, but she was trying. Till now, she still hadn't come up with a recipe for the perfect brew.

Since that day at Captain Kyoraku's press conference, Izumi and Jushiro had developed a strong friendship. Though she knew that she couldn't rival Kyoraku in being the one with whom he had grown up, the one who shared more than half of his lifetime, she was content on just being his friend. He was the one she went to whenever she had problems – granted, she never really took the time to explore the expansive Seireitei and the outer districts, ultimately giving her an anti-social streak.

Saito, on the other hand, was never quite taken with Jushiro. He often warned Izumi to be wary of him, saying that nobles were nothing but a bunch of wimps with a shitload of fortune and rotten brains. She never found out why he hated nobles so much, and whenever she asked him, he would merely wave her question away and leave the house to return to the division, stating that he needed "some time alone to train." Izumi had no doubt that he just wanted to avoid answering her. There was a secret that he was hiding, and would remain hidden as she couldn't very well pry it out of a corpse.

With that thought came the familiar sentiment that floated above Izumi like an impending thundercloud, and slowly it settled upon her until finally she felt the seams of her heart straining with raging emotions. Still she couldn't forget him. Couldn't and wouldn't. To forget was to not remember, and she didn't want to forget him. She wanted to remember him for who he was, who he had been before and after they entered the Seireitei. All throughout his life he had never changed. She was grateful for that… and yet, now, he finally did change into a parting soul, one lost to his grieving spouse.

Izumi shook her head, willing herself to erase those thoughts, but they stuck fast in her head with a vengeance. She hated this feeling, a feeling in which one felt like the victim with weaknesses that were too many to count. Weaknesses that burdened one's person, ultimately drowning them in a red sea of guilt, sorrow, anger.

With a sigh, Izumi ran her fingers through her hair. "You say that in every bad there's some good?"

There was a moment of silence wherein Jushiro merely stared at her, trying to make out just what it was that troubled her. For the most part, he was aware of the mental tumult she had taken ever since the death of her spouse. Anyone would do the same. Nobody could even fathom the idea of losing one so close. Jushiro himself could never imagine losing Shunsui, his best friend that no one could ever replace.

Having gone through the pain of abandonment, of losing to Death and watching it take his parents away, Jushiro understood Izumi's current state far too well.

But that didn't mean that he was behind her mourning. There was a limit to everything, and she had stretched hers for far too long. Jushiro had to admit that it was bordering on ridiculous as he watched her plunge into yet another trance, one that no doubt had the mind mulling over unhealthy thoughts. It was very much acceptable to feel the stab of sorrow when one's love had died… but shouldn't one pick up the pieces and just move on? Isn't that what love is all about? Surely Izumi knew this, didn't she?

If not, then Jushiro would just have to break it to her.

"In every bad there is some good," he said firmly, coming to a stop. It took a few steps further before Izumi finally realized that he had fallen back, and turned around with a puzzled look that grew into a frown when she saw his furrowed eyebrows. "Haven't I told you before that each day starts with a sunrise and ends with a sunset? Both are natural beauties the gods have bestowed upon us as a reminder that, whenever life places its cruel burdens on you, there is still beauty to look forward to at the end of the day."

"I remember you telling me that." Her tone of voice was flat as if she didn't care much for his words. He ignored it, turning his head to gaze at the horizon. It glowed purple, the last of the setting sun already hidden behind high peaks in the distance. A small group of birds flocked towards it, not wanting to miss the final moments of light before the world fell into darkness.

"It's good that you remember, because that will help you make it through life. It goes without saying that-"

"I don't need your advice, Captain Ukitake."

And when Jushiro turned around, he found himself staring at Izumi's back, unable to stop her as she widened the distance between them.

With his lips pursed, he shook his head, contentment dissolving into thin air in a matter of moments.

_Still bitter now, are we, Izumi?_

xxx

The rest of the walk had been a rather uneventful one. An uncomfortable silence hung in the air all throughout, burning whatever that was left of such a beautiful evening, evolving it into a grey, stale closure of the day.

No matter how much Jushiro wanted to start a conversation, or how he wanted to just shoot out his hand and slap Izumi back to her senses, he knew that he couldn't. There was no way of prying her mouth open when she didn't want to talk, and if he were to slap her… well, she'd give him a slap right back. There was no difference in their social standing whenever they were alone. So what if he were a captain? She'd still give him a bitch-slap whether he deserved it or not. That was one of the highlights of her character – she didn't care for the reasons or consequences. That one trait often landed her in situations wherein only a high-ranking officer, or someone of significant social standing, could pull her out. Since Jushiro was both, as well as the one friend she wholeheartedly trusted, he had no choice but to take responsibility.

Sometimes he wished that he didn't have to, for she mainly had troubles with the law. Making a scene whilst in a drunken stupor was often the one thing Jushiro had to go through, and after, he would have to sit in the law enforcement office with a limp Izumi who had passed out just moments after dealing a blow into someone's face. To say that his reputation was tarnished each time that happened was an understatement.

Izumi, on her part, had long stopped mulling over death. She still remembered the few days spent in the hospital, trapped in an immaculate room whose white walls seemed to shrink onto her. The stench of medicine floated in the air, thick enough to block her nostrils and cause her to throw herself over the side of the bed, choking. During her stay there, death had been her sole companion. She could hear the cries of distressed family members grieving over the lost of their loved ones. Their sorrow echoed through the hallways, seeping into her ward through tiny cracks in the door, pulling at her heartstrings and reminding her that death would come for everyone. It was inevitable, and yet there she was cursing the shit gods for its existence.

At that moment, she couldn't stand being beside Jushiro. Having him there was almost like having an unwanted nanny, an old man, in his case, who did nothing but nag. Of course, he wasn't one for nagging, but her mind was just too messed up to differentiate between nagging, scolding and bestowing words of wisdom. With that said, it was only natural for relief to flood her being when they arrived at a crossroads, the two-way junction that they were confronted with each time they headed home together.

"This is where I leave you then," said Jushiro, voice almost as low as a murmur.

Izumi gave a curt nod and, raising a hand in an absent wave, turned around on her heels and took the street on the left. Jushiro stood there for a while longer, watching as she walked down the street. A cold wind blew, whipping strands of white hair across his face, into his eyes. Izumi's shoulders hunched up as she hugged herself for warmth, and for a moment Jushiro felt the age-old burn in his chest, taking him back to when his sister had left wearing that very same set of _jinbei_.

xxx

"Don't touch my _novels_!"

That warning went unheeded. Izumi took it upon herself and charged into the living room, only to be grabbed by one of the big, bulky workers by the collar and thrown back out into the street. She landed on her back in a puff of debris but, with her mind still dizzy from the fall, she struggled to stand and returned into what one would call a looting scene.

A pair of men, equipped with thick arms whose muscles cultivated through years of labour bulged, straining against skin, had been in her apartment since she returned home. Panic had sprouted fast within her when she first saw the broken lock on the door, and when she finally got past her fear and mustered up the courage to enter, all she could do was let out a gasp. For one thing, the men were going through the bookshelf, pulling down Captain Kyoraku's novels and, gods forbid, his portrait that Jushiro had given to Izumi once upon a time. She managed to catch it before it hit the floor, but that little rescue mission had ended up with her sprawled out and vulnerable, and that was when the novels came crashing down on her.

Having had enough of her demands, a worker sporting a buzz cut who had decided to leave his sweaty shirt lying on the back of a dining chair finally took her by the wrist and shoved her out through the door. With a very 'polite' admonishment, he told her to stay out of what they were doing, and that they were just trying to carry out their jobs.

Izumi, being the determined individual with notoriety for being stubborn, had flown straight back into the living room. She managed to salvage three novels before being kicked out once again.

This was the third time Izumi ignored their warnings, and the same worker who had so rudely asked for 'permission' to loot her house grabbed her by the front of her collar and seethed in her face.

"Look woman, we're just tryin' t'do our jobs, so I suggest ye t'stay outta this till we're done, or don't ye understand m'simple language?" Without even waiting for an answer, he pushed her out.

"Tell me what the hell's going on!"

"Oh, didn't you know?" That rusty, aged voice made Izumi whip around and come face to face with an old, stout woman. Her plump figure was only enhanced with layers upon layers of an extravagant kimono, red with splashes of purple and hints of blue, tied together at the waist with a luscious green obi. Her long, black hair was tied up in a neat bun, allowing not even a single strand to touch her wrinkled face.

"Tanaka-san," Izumi muttered bitterly once she caught her bearings, and bowed low to her landlady. All the while she wondered why she even paid her respects to his woman. She was hungry for money, and every time Izumi's rent was just a day overdue, she would send her servants over to come and bang on her door, demanding payment.

Coming to think of it, the woman hadn't dropped a bomb on her home for two months in a row now. Usually, not a single month passed without the grand opening of Tanaka-san's group of grumpy servants surging to the apartment. Saito would have kicked their backsides right out if they hadn't been under Tanaka-san. If he were to do anything to hurt them, he and Izumi would be out in the streets with nothing but the clothes on their backs the next moment.

Izumi had been wondering about it for quite some time now. Two months ago she had been sitting at the kitchen table, waiting in apprehension the arrival of the entourage, but they never appeared. When Saito came home and she told him about it, he merely gave a shrug and went off to have a bottle of sake. It happened again last month, and the prospect of Saito finally being able to pay their rent on time delighted her – that night she went on to reward him for his hard work.

But now, with the sudden and very much unexpected appearance of Tanaka-san and her two beefy workers whom she had never seen before, Izumi felt a chill strike her deep within her bones. She wasn't the one who went about the business of paying their rent, so she didn't know just what happened – or what could have _possibly _happened – during Saito's encounters with the woman.

"Who are those people?" Izumi gestured towards the open door, flinching when a green novel flew out and tumbled onto the ground like a rag doll.

"Isn't it obvious?" Tanaka-san muttered, her full red lips barely moving around the long pipe she held with a gnarly hand, puffing on it with disdain when she saw Izumi's puzzled expression. "They are my servants, men used to eradicate a penniless patron out from their homes."

It took a while for Izumi to come to terms with her words, but when she did, she immediately flew into a rage. "'Eradicate a penniless patron'? What's that supposed to mean?"

Tanaka-san examined her long fingernails, painted bright red against her pale skin. "I knew I was right for taking you lightly. What an idiot you are, unable to fathom even the simplest of things."

The urge to bury a fist in the old woman's face surfaced, a common feeling that would seize Izumi whenever she came across her, but always she managed to hold it down, restrain it. It wasn't worth to lose a home just because she pulled the wrong punches. Besides, Tanaka-san had been 'kind' enough to offer a cheap apartment for both of them when they first started out penniless… Well, the one who made the bargain wasn't actually the woman herself. Instead, it had been her husband, a lovely man, much older than her, who preferred reclining on the balcony of his estate and gazing across his _zen_ garden than chasing after money – much in contrast to his younger wife. He had been nice enough to let Izumi and Saito stay in the apartment until they earned enough money, and when they did, they went on to rent it from him. Shortly after that however, the man passed away of some illness whose name eluded Izumi, and that was when she and Saito started playing a rather sacrilegious game of hide-and-seek with his wife.

With the help of a mental image of Tanaka-san, his kind eyes that seemed to appear closed because of loose skin and droopy eyelids, Izumi constrained her anger. A few deep breaths managed to quell it a little, but it was hard to keep it down considering how the woman was puffing smoke in her face.

"All done, madam," Izumi's nemesis said, coming through the doorway, wiping sweat from his brows. Izumi would have admired the way his muscles flexed, but now she could only glower at him in disgust. Tanaka-san sashayed over, snapping a fan open, and poked her head into the living room now devoid of personal belongings. She examined the peeling wallpaper, the open doors throughout the apartment, and finally her gaze settled on a heap of books in the middle of the room. She scrunched up her nose as if a bad smell had just made its way in, and turned to point the tip of her fan at Izumi.

"You," she snapped, "take your tasteless novels and leave this place." Her words were curt, straightforward, and powerful enough to punch a hole in Izumi.

"What d'you mean?" Izumi stepped forwards, ready to pounce onto the woman so that she would withdraw her decision, but the worker moved to stand in front of her. His glare was one that warned Izumi of endless agony if she were to take a step closer. She swallowed hard and stood her ground. "You're…you're kicking me out of my own home?"

"No," her smirk grated on Izumi's nerves, fuelling her fury. "I've never been one to do such things. Besides, this has never been your _home _in the first place. My husband, gods bless his dearly departed soul, had only lent you the apartment out of sympathy, and _your _husband betrayed his trust."

"We didn't meet the deadlines often but… but we _did _pay, didn't we?"

"Oh, you did, didn't you?" Tanaka-san rummaged around in her sleeve and fished out a crisp white paper. She scanned through, muttering incoherent words around her pipe, and when her eyes lit up Izumi could only hope that she had found her own mistake. But when the old woman fixated her black, bottomless orbs on her, Izumi was certain that she was beyond wrong, and that her luck couldn't get any worse than this.

"Dear Murakami hasn't cleared two months' worth of rent." She folded the paper into a small square, stashed it away in her sleeve and took a puff from her pipe. "Do you have anything to say about that?"

"Two months worth?" Izumi couldn't believe her ears, eyes widening to the size of saucers in shock. "B-but you didn't come asking for payment for two months! I assumed that you had received them. Didn't Saito-"

"No, I haven't seen him in two months."

Izumi felt a sharp pain in her chest, as if the old woman's words were knives hurtled straight into her body. "That's not possible. Maybe he paid it to one of your servants?" But she knew that that wasn't the case. There wasn't even a slight chance that he would be stupid enough to seek out a servant with money. He would always go straight to the woman herself, the landlady, the one who held their refuge in the palm of her hand. She was vital in their survival, and without her, they would have been living off scraps from the street. Up till now, hers was the cheapest apartment block money could buy, and Izumi couldn't afford to lose it.

The look in Tanaka-san's eyes said it all. With a flap of her fan, she nodded a signal to her two workers and turned her back on Izumi. "Get out of my face, Murakami. You never were a useful patron anyway. Someone else has the money to pay up, and I've chosen to rent this place to them. Besides," she turned her head slightly, looking at Izumi over the top of her fan, "they are offering triple of what you're currently paying… or should I say, _were _paying."

The worker with a buzz cut shoved Izumi to the side with a grunt, a smirk plastered to his face, and she could only watch as he placed a big padlock on the door, locking her out of her own home.

xxx

Lanterns, light beacons hanging from rooftops, flickered in the distance. A vain attempt at illuminating the dark night, to say the least. An owl's hoot broke the eerie silence, floating on the cold breeze to reach Izumi's ears. She lifted her face to the sky, blew out a breath and watched it frost in the air before her eyes. The white frost so reminded her of Tanaka-san's smoking pipe, but the image of the old woman's wrinkled face and her bright red lips could no longer strike the vexation chord in her. She was already numb to pain, and it seemed like nothing could break her any longer.

Izumi picked up a small stone and examined it, running a fingertip over its jagged surface. She wondered whether that little piece of rock resembled a heart, for she could only imagine hers to be in such a state – rough, sharp-edged, seemingly broken off from one whole object. She threw the stone to the other side of the street and watched it hit the opposite wall with a dull thud, feeling like she had just thrown a piece of her heart away.

"It's just as well," she murmured to herself, facing the sky once again. Dark clouds were all she could see, but in the distance there was a light shade of silver dusting the edges of a clump of fat, puffy clouds. They so mirrored the candy she used to indulge in during her adolescent years. For lower districts of the Rukon, that sort of enjoyment was expensive, and she had only been allowed a treat every two months. Stealing was not an option. If she were to even think of it, her father would have had her head for supper.

Thinking of him now reminded Izumi of her mother. She could no longer remember their faces, but she was fully aware of their traits. He was a strict, no-nonsense man with a passion for his crops. She, on the other hand, was always bedridden with illness that doctors said were incurable.

Izumi ran her fingers through her hair, letting out a sigh. It frosted in the air, and the whiteness of it seemed to be thick of conflicting sentiments that struggled to be free. She leaned back against the wall, eyes never leaving the sky, and gathered all the novels she had managed to save to her chest. Her mind wandered back to that fateful day when Saito's subordinate stood on her doorstep, informing her of his death. That was when her life had taken a bitter turn, and she only had power enough to ride along its tumultuous waves, unable to swim back to shore.

"Lost my husband," she muttered, turning a page of Captain Kyoraku's most famously inept novel. "Lost my home, lost my money, my clothes… and I don't even have sake." She let her eyelids drift to a close, dragging on a groan. "What is it that you want from me eh, shit gods?"

"What are you mumbling about, Murakami?"

At the sound of that voice, Izumi gave a start, eyes going wild before finally resting on a glowing lantern just feet from her. She squinted, and finally managed to make out the figure of one Ukitake Jushiro as he emerged from darkness. His appearance rendered her speechless, and it was only when he was right before her that she snapped out of her trance.

"What… what are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question." Jushiro frowned, examining her from head to toe before laying his gaze on his best friend's novels. "Shouldn't you be at home? Or are you just a lost drunkard?"

How Izumi wished she was the latter. Being a lost drunkard pissing on her own reputation was much better than looking like a homeless beggar on the street – which, Izumi was certain, she appeared to be right at that very moment. Having Jushiro here, staring down at her defeated form, wasn't much comfort either. Izumi turned away in shame, unable to meet his questioning eyes.

"That old hag kicked me out," she managed to mutter. "Took everything… Got the chance to keep Captain Kyoraku's books, at least." She forced a weak laugh to lighten the atmosphere, but it only served to deepen Jushiro's frown.

A moment of silence settled upon them, uncomfortable and shameful on Izumi's part. She couldn't fathom what Jushiro now thought of her, and she was afraid to even look at him. The only solace was that he had averted his lantern and gaze, but, as if the shit gods really did want to take a piss on her, the clouds parted to reveal a bright full moon, and its light, though beautiful and majestic, was almost blinding.

"Get up, Murakami, you look pathetic." Jushiro's curt, authoritative voice shattered the silence. Izumi flinched, hugging the novels tighter to her chest.

"Go away, Jushiro." She turned over so that the side of her body was against the wall, cheek pressed to the cold, hard surface. "Don't want you to see me like this. Come back in the morning… or maybe this whole pile of shit is just a bad dream."

"It's not a dream, and you know it." Jushiro grasped her forearm and pulled her to her feet, his strength betraying his emaciated appearance. "Saito is now gone, your home is now gone, and you're the only one left. You have to face the fact that you can do nothing to reverse time. You can't resurrect him. All you can do now is stand your ground, like a shinigami on the bloody battlefield with his dead comrades, and endure. You cannot go anywhere if you only sit here, begging for mercy. This will get you nowhere, and it only proves that you've given into your weakness." Jushiro's grip on her shoulder tightened. "Do you understand what I'm trying to tell you, Murakami?"

Izumi gazed into his hazel eyes, weathered and worn from years of burden, responsibility… death. She knew how much he had suffered throughout his life. He'd told her on a few occasions, when they were indulging in tea during quiet afternoons in his garden, but holding his dead friend in his arms and feeling the heat of blood soaking his clothes were only the tips of the iceberg. There were other, more frightening things he hadn't told her…

Jushiro's stare never faltered, and it was only when Izumi nodded her understanding that he let go of her shoulder. "I wanted to return this to you." He raised the hand that wasn't holding the lantern, and Izumi felt a lump lodge itself in her throat when she saw what he held. With trembling hands she reached out to receive her zanpakuto, sheathed in its slender brown case. Her fingertips caressed its smooth surface, noting a few shallow cuts here and there.

Till then, Izumi realized, she hadn't given it a single thought. She had been too preoccupied with her own troubles that she didn't even have the time to wonder about her zanpakuto's well-being. One of the few things she still remembered from her Academy days was that a zanpakuto was a manifestation of the wielder's soul, and now, as she held the blade before her, she felt like a piece of her heart had been returned to her. Fingers tightening around the sheath, images of that first encounter with the spirit clouded her mind's eye. The spirit had been hostile, aggressive… Izumi shook her head, fingernails digging into the blade's sheath as she murmured a strained apology.

A hand settled on her shoulder, and Izumi looked up to see Jushiro's gentle smile, filled with reassurance that she so needed. "It's all right." That one sentence was all it took to squeeze a tear out of her. It trailed down her cheek, but Jushiro took it upon himself and brushed it away with a soft chuckle. He knew Izumi far too well to be fooled by those colourful phrases that she so fancied. She acted tough, like nothing could take her down, but in truth even the sight of an old, frail grandmother was enough to induce sentimentality.

Izumi nudged his hand away with a scoff that spoke all too clearly of denial. Jushiro left it at that, unwilling to smear her already tainted pride. He watched as she gathered all her novels, rushing to help her when a few nearly tumbled out of her hold.

"Come stay with me."

Izumi paused and stared at him like he had six heads, unable to believe her ears. "What?"

"You haven't got anywhere else to go, have you?" Jushiro took a few books into his own hands, ignoring her protests. "Besides, you _are _my fiancée, after all."

It took a while for Izumi to digest his words, but Jushiro's confident yet teasing smile made her burst out with a laugh. Their mirth echoed across the street – it was one that they both had thought was long lost, buried deep under mountains of anxiety and despair.

"You haven't lost everything, Izumi," said Jushiro. "Remember what I told you? In every bad there is certain to be some good. You need to listen to me more often."

Izumi remembered those words and etched them in her mind, never to be forgotten, as guilt overrode her for her previous hostility towards him. She took a step backwards and bowed low. "Sorry, Captain Ukitake!"

Jushiro reached out a hand, and when she looked up, he gave her nose a little poke, an affectionate smile pulling at the sides of his lips. "It's all right."

* * *

Review away, kiddies - makes for a better morning. And, as always, much thanks to my beta. 3


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